To Reap What Thou Sow
by Cassandra Ann 15
Summary: "Memory is a finicky little bitch, that much is for sure." After the events of MK11, Erron has the chance to reflect on his past before his destiny is rewritten for him by the newest Elder God, Liu Kang.
1. Hebe :: Youth

Memory is a finicky little bitch, that much is for sure.

It's just plain stupid you don't get to pick and chose what you remember and what you forget. It'd make livin' life a helluva lot easier, bein' able to block out the dark times and only remember the good. Though I suppose, if that were the case, life wouldn't be nearly as excitin' to live 'cause we'd all be the same. And as much as I hate to admit it, memories, the good, the bad, and all the shit that's in between, make people who they are in the long run. Some folks just need a longer period of time to get all their ducks in a row than others. Others just need to go through more pain before they finally get it.

Still… I wouldn't mind havin' some of the thoughts locked up in my head wiped clean. If I had a choice, which I sure as Hell don't, I would trade all my mistakes and triumphs, all the memories that have been bottled up and jumbled around for years, for a brand new slate to write on quicker than a shot from my own gun. But that ain't possible and it ain't my decision even if it were. Besides, I'm not the kind of person that deserves any kind of retribution from any supposed god-like power. I've done one too many things that would land me directly in the steamin' pits of Hell if ever a place existed (which, apparently, it does).

Stewin' in my memories for the rest of eternity don't seem like much fun, but, Hell, I lived through it once already. I'm sure can live through them just one more time.

**1841**

The sunset was not a common color that night. It had multiple hues of pink, orange, and red that scattered throughout the canvas of the sky above, the mixing and blending tones too many for Erron to count individually. Sitting thoughtfully in the crabgrass, little hands pulling on the course plants that were all around him, the young boy waited for his Father outside of the blacksmith forge with Cecil sitting directly to his left in a similar pose.

The clang, clang, clanging of the metal workers hidden deep within the recesses of the dim building startled the blond boy more than once, his older brother laughing merrily each and every time before kicking a handful of dirt into Erron's eyes. He sputtered and rubbed his eyes, instantly tearing up once he removed his hands and tried to blink out the intruding dust. Cecil, his deep brown eyes he had inherited from his Ma twinkling, sighed deeply and, wiping away a small tear that ran down Erron's dirt stained cheeks, asked with a cheeky smile, "Why're you cryin' over just a lil' ol' bit of dirt, little brother? Scared it's gonna hurt you?"

Erron scowled, his blue eyes flashing, and shoved Cecil's hand away, the brunette simply laughing as he scooted closer and threw more dirt in the blond's direction. "I'mma tell Mama if you keep doin' that," Erron hissed as he brushed the dirt from his cotton pants and wiped his hands on the grass anxiously. Cecil snorted and opened his mouth to most likely reply with a snarky comment, but a loud clang echoing from within the forge caused him to jump in his seat and whip his head over his shoulder before he could respond. Erron grinned and poked his brother sharply in the ribs. "You're scared too, aren't ya?"

"Be quiet." Cecil raised his hand to silence Erron, causing the younger boy to narrow his eyes. He stood slowly after a few moments and brushed off his cotton pants. "I think Pa might be comin' out."

Copying his older brother, Erron stood and began hopping from foot to foot immediately as he awaited the sight of his Father, being sure to stay out of the way of passing people and horses. It wasn't long after Erron almost tripped over a clump of grass and fell in front of a wagon pulled by two very large oxen that Cecil grabbed his younger brother's shoulders to still his jumping, the blond letting out a noise of indiginition as he tried to wiggle out of his brother's grip. Stomping on Cecil's foot after a few seconds was all Erron needed to do to be freed, giggling mischievously as the brunet yelped and jumped backwards into a woman with a large petticoat. His laughter only grew when the woman gasped and shoved Cecil back at Erron, his older brother apologising over and over to the young woman as she glared over her shoulder while marching away.

Once he regained his balance, Cecil frowned angrily at the blond with folded arms. In the dying light, the shadows that danced across his features made him look menacing, a feat that would not have scared Erron if it wasn't almost nightfall with no Father in sight and many strangers just bustling left and right down the busy streets. Swallowing the remainder of his laughter, Erron sheepishly looked at the ground and, scuffing his toe on the clump of grass that had almost resulted in a collision, mumbled, "Didn't mean to make you trip. Sorry."

"Mmhm," Cecil grumbled as he unfolded his arms and let them hang casually by his sides, his gaze returning westward as the sun dipped below the golden desert horizon line as his arms drifted lazily in the warm breeze. Erron, satisfied with his apology, looked behind him and back into the forge impatiently, wondering just how long it would take for their Father to return from his work, before sitting on the ground and returning to his task of pulling up all the grass that was within his reach.

He inevitably fell asleep before his Father finished work for the evening, the sky already enveloped into a deep indigo shroud that not even the silver moon could pierce through. Hazily, he remembered the walk from the forge to the one roomed home his Ma, his Father, himself, and Cecil all shared together. It was about a ten minute walk if you were going slowly, which his sleep deprived Father and energy drained brother were doing, but the rocking motion that Erron got from being in his Father's muscled arms soothed him greatly and put the blond boy in a dream like state in which the walking time seemed nearly cut in half.

And if he really, really thought about it, Erron might even recall his Ma and Father tucking him swiftly into his narrow bed, his Ma's accent thick from tiredness as she murmured a lullaby in his ear and his Father's rumbling voice reminding Erron of a thunderstorm rolling across a prairie as he kissed the blond's cheek goodnight.

**1843**

Emilia Black brought a few things with her when she made her way north of the border nine years ago. None of the items were fancy or expensive; they were just small trinkets of value that she deemed too important to leave behind in Mexico. One of these small artifacts, her leather bound Bible that was hand stitched just for her as a child, became a staple of the house hold when she and Samuel married in '32. Her oldest, Cecil, loved the vivid imagery the book provided and read the holy script whenever time allowed, once he was old enough to do such on his own. Her youngest, Erron, was… to put mildly… not keen to the book at all.

One rainy night late in August however, while thunder boomed and lightning flashed across the sky, Erron found, while sitting still and quiet on his tiny bed with his back facing his family in an attempt to pretend he was asleep, that the words in the special book, with their fancy sayings and long purncations, were actually soothing to listen to. Grabbing the blanket laying across his body in his left fist, the blond sat up carefully, his blue eyes blinking slowly to banish the drowsiness from them, and watched his Ma's mouth form the syllables to each word in the sacred text, Cecil curled into her left side and mouthing along with what she was saying.

Even though the words were beyond Erron's understanding, the way his Ma spoke them, with notes of convection and awe ebbed deep within her voice, gave the young boy the impression that the words were important that he should pay attention even if the stories were incredibly dull.

"'For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace-'"

"Mama?" Erron's throat was scratchy after not being used for a half hour and he had to clear it before continuing, "Why are you always readin' from that book?" He gestured with his hands at the brown book in Emilia's lap, her mouth forming a small smile as she watched her son flounder for the following words. "It ain't that interestin'." Her smile fell instantly, her eyes darkening as she sat up straight and smoothed out her blue dress with her left hand.

"You're gonna go to Hell if you keep talkin' like that," Cecil interrupted, sitting upright and almost knocking his crossed legs into his Father as he slept on the bed behind him, "The Lord don't like it when you talk like that and he'll send you to Hell like he sent Satan outta Heaven."

Erron let go of his blanket and kicked his feet over the side of the bed before protesting, "He ain't gonna send me to Hell 'cause I pray to him every Sunday at Mass."

"You gotta pray to him everyday and you don't, so yer gonna go to Hell."

"I ain't gonna go to Hell. Stop sayin' that."

"Not prayin' everyday's a sin and sins get you sent to Hell. Ain't that right, Ma?"

Erron pursed his lips as his patience ran near empty, standing up from his seat to bellow before Emilia could open her mouth, "I ain't gonna go to Hell! Stop sayin' that!" The blond was visibly upset, on the verge of bursting into tears, as Emilia closed the book sharply with a slap of the pages and stood up, the motion freezing Erron's temper tantrum as she walked over to where he was shaking and snifulling.

Handing the book slowly to her youngest son, her brown hair escaped her bun in wisps around her head as she said sternly, "You will not talk about the Lord in such a fashion, _Erron_." The book felt heavy in Erron's hands, the promise to read and study the intense language within weighing heavily on his shoulders, as she glanced behind her at the shifting form of Samuel Black before continuing slowly, "Study and remember your manners." She tapped the book lightly before walking back to the bed, Cecil slowly crawling off his parent's mattress to walk to his own bed across the room with a haughty look on his face.

Erron sniffed loudly, using the back of his right hand to wipe at his nose, as Emilia lifted the lantern that sat on the floor beside the bed and blew out the flame, casting the room in complete darkness with only a little light splashing in from the window above Erron's bed. Lightning flashed outside once more and Erron gulped anxiously. "Night Mama," he whispered into the darkened room as he turned around and, dropping the heavy book onto the wooden floor with a thud, climbed solemnly into bed, hugging his pillow as he fell into a fitful and unpleasant sleep.

**1846**

Samual Black didn't bring much with him other than clothes when he went off to the war. It's not like he didn't have a choice; It's just that Emilia was too angry to let him anywhere near the house once the fighting was over and done with. That day had consisted mostly of cussing and crying, which Erron witnessed by peering in through a dusty window after being ushered outside by his parents. "You didn't say you had to leave _mañana_, Samual! You cannot go!"

Samual was busy shoving various pieces of clothing into a worn leather bag as he snapped impatiently at his wife, "It ain't your place to decide, woman! I've already made my decision! I'm not gonna be gone forever, so quit yappin' like a bitch and help me get my belongin's all sorted!" He stood up straight and, buckling the belt on top of bag and placing a brown cap onto his head, dragged the bag over his shoulders, his blue eyes cold as he began to march towards the door.

Emilia, who had been wringing her dress in white knuckled fists to the left of the door, stepped quickly in front of her husband and spat with venom, "_¿Qué hay de Cecil y Erron_, hm? What will happen to _nuestra familia _while you are gone!?" Holding up her hand to silence Samual as he opened his mouth to speak, she continued to spit fire at her husband, her hands clenched into fists and shaking at her sides. "You are abandoning us and you are too scared to admit it! You think it will make you more of _un hombre_ if you pretend to _ir a la guerra en lugar de decirle a tu esposa que tienes una amante al sur!_ _¡Cobarde!_ That is what you are! _¡Un cobarde!_"

"What is it? What're they yellin' about now?" Cecil startled Erron as he walked up to his right, the blond flinching as if he had been stung by a bee while his heart momentarily stopped beating before he turned to look at his brother. Cecil was covered in dirt, no doubt because he had tried to wrangle Dixie, the one family horse that Erron thought had to be at least two hundred years old, over to the rickety old gate surrounding their decrepit house even though the horse despised him at their Father's request. The brunet pushed Erron to the side so he could get a better look inside of the window, the blond biting back a bitter remark as he awaited his turn to look in the window. "Damn, Pa's still here? Thought he would've left for the Rio Grande by now."

Shoving his brother out of the way after growing far too impatient for his turn and narrowly avoiding getting hit by the Bible in the brunet's left hand as a result, Erron replied hastily, "Pa and Ma's been arguin' 'bout when he's comin' back from the war. They've been arguin' for half the damn day it feels like."

This time, he wasn't fast enough to avoid the heavy Bible hit the back of his head. The action ached something fierce and stars quickly clouded the young boy's sight. "Don't say damn. God doesn't like that." Feeling small tears prickle in his eyes, Erron whipped around, dizzying himself in the process, and pushed Cecil away from the window as something inside the house was thrown against the wall.

"You said 'damn' too, so don't you go hittin' me with that stupid Bible of yours 'cause you ain't all that high and righteous yerself!" Erron cried with indignation, jumping backwards as his brother tried to hit him again before lunging forward and yanking the precious book out of Cecil's hands.

Then he took off running, sprinting as fast as he could towards the gate as his brother shouted in anger from behind him. The blond was going to rip out all the pages once he got far enough away from the house, far enough away so that he wouldn't have to listen to his Ma and Pa's arguing anymore as he tore out each and every blessed page. At least he would have, if he hadn't been tackled by his older and obviously faster brother and thrown to the dusty ground.

As the blond tried to catch his breath, a sharp pain in his right arm making him cry out in pain when he tried to move it, the book was kicked from his hands and out of his reach. Cecil picked up the book carefully and dusted off it's leather cover before cradling it to his chest as he snarled, "Coulda ruined it, Erron! This was Ma's 'fore she gave it to me! Would've had to deal with her if anythin' had happened to it!"

"I ain't scared of Ma," Erron retorted angrily as he sat up and winced at the bruises he had on his knees and behind as well as the pointed pain in his arm. He was quickly pushed back to the ground by Cecil and tried to take a swipe at the brunet's legs as he went down in order to knock him over.

"You're so goddamn stupid sometimes."

"You just cussed again!" Erron sat up and was pushed back again, growling in annoyance as his older brother looked smugly down on him with his Bible tucked into the crook of his arm, "You're always sayin' God hates this and God hates that, but God must hate you most of all 'cause of all your blasphemous behavior!"

"No, God doesn't hate me. I study the Bible every night and I go to confession every Sunday, which is better than what you do. When was the last time you've even gone to confession?" Erron opened his mouth to say something, feeling angry that his brother would even suggest he hadn't been going to confession, but was quickly talked over by his brother as he plowed on, "'Sides, Pa says that when yer man, you can say whatever the Hell you want to to whoever the Hell you want to."

"You ain't a man yet. Yer thirteen!"

"Still older than you. Yer only eight."

The sound of glass shattering suddenly echoed out from inside the house, followed by a cry of pain that sounded suspiciously like Emilia's. Cecil stopped smiling and turned to look towards the house, Erron sitting up quickly as a feeling of dread began to take hold of him. The blond stood quickly and stood beside his brother, watching as the brunet's features shifted from downright terrified to a neutral expression that hid his emotions very well.

Cecil placed his hand around Erron's shoulders and they waited for their Father to appear.

He didn't acknowledge his children as he mounted the old horse, his gaze fixed solely on the road ahead as he repositioned his hat on his head and ruffled Dixie's black mane with his left hand. Cecil had to hold onto Erron's shoulders as the young boy kept wanting to jump in front of Dixie's hoofs and stop his Father from leaving for what he thought was to be forever. He wanted to do anything to prevent Samual from leaving Nacogdoches and if that meant being crushed by Dixie's hoofs, then god dammit he would do it. At one point, Emilia appeared from inside the house, one hand holding a piece of meat to her face as she glared at the man upon the horse defiantly.

Samual Black disappeared in a cloud of smoke, the sound of horseshoes thudding methodically on the ground growing fainter and fainter as the broken family watched him round a bend in the road and ride quickly past a rundown old building that had caught fire as he finally disappeared from sight.

**1847**

The wagon had stopped right in front of the Black residence, the oxen at the head restlessly shaking their heads and pawing at the dirt as the family began to unpack their belongings. There were three members, a mother, a father, and a girl, all with blond hair that Erron could see reflected the sunlight right back into the sky because it was so light. The man held a cane and seemed to have a limp in his right leg. The wife was carrying the bags into the empty house their wagon had paused in front of, looking at all the buildings and sights surrounding her briefly before being broken from her trance when a man on another wagon passing on the road tipped his hat and waved at the woman. The girl, her dress a light shade of pink, was petting the oxen's faces and feeding them grain and oats, seemingly trying to calm the restless beasts.

Erron watched them work curiously from his place on the porch, his legs crossed with his Ma's Bible sitting dully on his lap. Cecil had already left for the day, off to work at the blacksmith's forge as an apprentice for their Father, and Ma was busy sewing in her rocking chair to the blond's right. Her face was looking towards the newcomers as she continued to work on a bondenier and stated lowly, "Go help with bags, Erron. That man cannot work, look at him. Go help."

"Why don't YOU go help them if yer so keen to it?" He really didn't want to move as the sun was hitting his arm and chest at just the right angle, the warmth spreading through his body the same way a blanket might spread warmth to someone who was freezing to death in the dead of winter. Plus, the quicker he finished reading his scriptures, the quicker he would be able to go do something he actually enjoyed, such as visiting the horses at the local corral.

Emilia stopped clicking her needles and kicked Erron sharply in his back, the boy instantly tensing up as he expected a second blow from the woman. Fortunately, it never came. "Go help. Now." Emilia's voice had taken on cold and detached quality, something that, although he thought himself a coward for it, scared him more than when his Ma just screamed or yelled at him. It had a tone that said that she wouldn't mind giving him a good tongue lashing or breaking out the rod if he didn't comply.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Erron slowly pushed the Bible off of his lap and onto the porch, standing slowly as he waited for his legs to stop having pins and needles in them. Glancing at his Ma once as he walked down the steps towards the gate, already beginning to work at the wool in her hands once more, Erron yanked the door open a little too rough and slammed it shut. The gate was old and was falling apart, much like everything else in the Black household, but that didn't stop Erron from unleashing his frustrations onto the gate door every once and awhile.

Quickly walking across the busy road, barely avoiding a collision with a man riding recklessly on his horse, Erron swallowed as he approached the wagon and called, "Need help with yer bags, Mister? I saw you 'cross the road and thought I might as well offer my help."

The woman was the first to take notice of Erron, carrying two heavy bags in her stringy arms as she called back with a smile that looked just the tiniest bit forced, "'Course, honey! Come here and take this from me." Erron saw the man watch him suspiciously from his resting spot next to the wagon as he walked slowly up to the woman, her dirty blonde hair practically glowing and her smile pulling too tight over her small facial features. As she handed over one of the bags, she shouted over her shoulder sharply, "Rose, show this young man where to put this bag in the house!" Erron saw the girl pull away from the oxen as her mother snapped again, "Now Rose! Not when the damn cows come home! Now!"

"'Comin' Mama!" The girl, Rose, smiled shyly at Erron as she approached him and, once realizing he probably knew who to follow and wasn't a complete idiot, turned and walked quickly up to her house, Erron trying and failing to match pace with her with the heaviest bag he had ever tried to carry in his whole life. Once she was on the porch, Rose turned again as Erron stopped to bend over and catch his breath, asking brashly, "What's yer name, boy?"

Erron straightened at her question, trying to balance the bag in his quivering arms as he murmured, "Erron. Erron Black, Miss Rose." Taking a few staggering steps forward, he almost fell onto his face from the shift of momentum the bag seemed to have on his body. Seemingly able to tell what was about to happen, Rose practically flew off of her porch and helped steady the blond and the bag by supporting the underside of said bag with both of her palms.

She then grinned, a wide smile that seemed to light up her entire face, and stated simply, "It's mighty fine to meet ya, Erron Black. My name's Rose Stewart."

The rain was pouring something fierce as Erron and Cecil made their way to the General Store, both of their trousers soaking wet and drenched in mud as they slogged through the nearly deserted dirt covered street. Cecil had wisely brought a wide brimmed hat, much like his Father wore when he was plowing the garden, that kept out most of the rainfall. His pace, as a result, was much more leisurely than his younger brother's, who had forgotten his own hat and was currently racing across the road at breakneck speed in an attempt to not get soaked to the bone.

It wasn't until one of the horses attached to a post on the outside of the General Store, a red stallion by the name of Percy, got spooked by the blond's antics that Cecil grabbed the collar of Erron's cotton shirt and hollered over the pounding raindrops, "Get inside the store, dammit! Jesus, it's too wet for you to be makin' a fool of yerself!"

Erron glared over his shoulder and elbowed Cecil in the torso sharply with his left elbow, watching his brother wince and drop his collar before, thinking that maybe it would be best that he didn't stick around for his brother to recover, pushing open the wooden door to the General Store and slamming it shut behind him. Droplets of water dripped off his shirt and onto the floor steadily as he stepped away from the door and walked further into the store, admiring the shelves upon shelves of goods surrounding the entrance way. Small trinkets littered almost every surface of the store, ranging from practical goods, such as flour and shotgun shells, to impractical goods, such as statues made of bronze and hundreds of multi-colored marbles and beads.

The man sitting behind the wooden counter was hunched over with a newspaper in his hands, his beady eyes only glancing upwards once when Erron first entered the store. His cane was nowhere to be seen, though the blond suspected it was just hidden by the counter because Rose's Pa never left his home without it. "He couldn't walk if he didn't have that cane of his," Rose had once told Erron, coming to visit on one of the many, many occasions he was forced to sit outside in the blazing sun and read the same damn scriptor over and over again.

Rose's Ma, her name was Susanna, had laughed from within the small house, probably from something Emilia had said, as Rose finished her braided grass bracelet and, presenting it to Erron, stated simply, "Papa is just the kinda man who needs one of them fancy walkin' sticks. It's not like he's old or nothin'."

Erron was busy admiring the bronze buttons on one of the lower shelves near the door as Cecil walked in, stepping out of the way and towards the shelf as the brunet made his way past. He could have pushed him from behind right then and the idea did indeed cross his mind, a small smile tugging on his lips as the thought of watching his brother flounder around on the floor filled his mind. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, Erron breathing in deeply and deciding to wring his muddy shirt with his hands onto the wooden floorboards.

And then, watching as his brother stood up straight and asked Rose's Pa over the counter for the two pints of milk and three rolls of bread their Ma had sent them here to get, Erron's hand slyly slide into the basket containing the buttons and grabbed five before pocketing them swiftly into the deep pockets on the sides of his trousers. It was only five buttons after all; Nobody, least of all Ol' Man Stewart with his lame leg and sour attitude, would miss 'em.

"I saw what ya did, ya know." Erron froze right at the exit, watching the door slowly close and seal his impending death as Cecil continued to walk obliviously back to their house and to their expecting Ma with two bags of groceries tucked safely under his arms. Erron slowly spun on one heel and blinked at Rose's stature, her eyes wide with one eyebrow quirked as she said coyly, "And I KNOW you didn't pay for them buttons either, Erron Black."

"I didn't take anything." The blond knew defending himself was stupid because Rose had literally seen him take the buttons from the basket and was holding out her hand expectingly with a smile on her face. The blond tried again and stated firmly, "I dunno what yer goin' on about, but I didn't take nothin' from your Daddy's store."

Rose laughed and replied saucily with a shake of her head, "Sheesh, I don't even need to know the Devil to know that yer a liar! Yer eyes give it away!" She mimicked the blond, shifting her eyes from side to side nervously before laughing and continuing, "Come on now, just hand 'em over."

Erron looked at Rose's outstretched palm with silent contemplation for a few moments before looking back up at the blonde, raising his eyebrows as if as a challenge. If she was gonna play this game, well shoot, he was gonna play too. "I think you've got the wrong fella, Rose."

The blond crossed his arms and stared Rose down, the latter shaking her head and breathing out deeply before stepping the tiniest closer and whispering, "I won't tell my Papa if you promise to not show yer Mama, alright?" Erron grinned and took Rose's hand, shaking it firmly as she giggled and whispered again, "And you owe me two pieces of hard candy the next time yer in here. Deal?"

Erron nodded and muttered a faint, "Deal," before letting go of Rose's hand and, whipping around so fast it hurt his neck, raced out of the General Store, splashing mud all on his clothing as he cackled each and every time the buttons made a jingling noise in his pocket.

"I ain't workin' at the blacksmith's anymore." Erron, who was busy brushing Percy's mane with a wooden brush, looked at his brother with mild annoyance on his face. This wasn't the first time Cecil had said something like this; He complained about the workshop all the time. Rolling his eyes before resuming to brush Percy, Erron partially listened as his brother rambled, "It's too damn loud an' the sparks fly all over the place an' I don't get paid nearly at all. I'm a damn slave in there, not an apprentice! I can't do it no more!"

"Well… What you gonna do 'bout it?" Erron asked with exasperation dripping from his voice, looking at the door to Mister Stewart's General Store to check and see if Rose had returned from inside yet. Finishing with the mane and continuing on to the stallion's back, Erron looked at his brother and said in a deadpane, "It ain't like it's yer choice whether or not you stay or go. Somebody's gotta wear the pants and win the bread."

Cecil straightened as he leaned on Percy's post, his crossed arms loosening as he brushed a strand of black hair out of his eyes before snapping, "I ain't the only man in the family, ya know. Soon, yer gonna have to pull yer share as well-"

"-I _am_ pullin' my share. I'm workin' for Mister Stewart, takin' care of Percy and keepin' Rose company and such."

Cecil snorted and hit Percy slightly on the butt before snarking, "This ain't a real job and you know it."

Erron didn't answer, his hand gripping the brush just a tad too tightly as he glared at his brother's taunting and mischievous face for a few seconds before returning to his brushing silently. He never won these fights, so there was no point in trying to. Every time there was an argument between the boys, the brunet would always pull the older sibling card and would talk circles around his younger brother until Erron would eventually be agreeing with Cecil's side or would have forgotten the argument entirely. It was exhausting and, Erron learned quickly, a waste of precious time and energy he could be spending by himself. Or with Rose, if she was around.

Cecil began to talk again when the blonde girl appeared from within her Pa's shop, carrying two cups that she almost spilled onto her yellow dress as she tripped over the stone slab that sat in front of the entrance. Erron watched in silent amusement as she finally made it to where he was standing and, giving him a mischievous smile, handed one of the drinks to the blond. She sipped on her own drink as she patted Percy's side and listened Cecil announce loudly, "Maybe I'll go see if Father Tom has any jobs he wants to offer me at the Church. I might as well ask…"

Resisting the urge to throw his drink at Cecil, Erron took a swig from his cup and almost immediately afterwards felt like throwing up because boy oh boy did that whiskey burn on the way down his throat. Rose, ever the charitable one, didn't start laughing at Erron's reaction until Cecil had walked across the street and back to the Black residence. And, after Erron stopped coughing and his face was no longer bright red, he began to laugh along with her and he actually felt okay for once.

**1848**

A tornado almost rolled into Nacogdoches the day he came home. The sky was a petride mix of greys, greens, and blacks and the rain had been coming and going all day long. It was in one of those periods of rest, in which Erron was sitting on the porch with one leg over the edge and one leg being hugged by his arms, that he saw his Father ride around the bend in the road and past the General Store on a horse the blond didn't recognize and with an expression that couldn't have been given a name at the time.

He had sat up quickly and, child-like excitement he would later regret having sparking through his veins, ran to the gate and flung the door open, shouting, "PA! You've come back! I though you were dead! Where'd you come from? How are you? Did ya kill any of them Mexicans while you was away?" But Samual Black didn't answer his son, instead choosing to slowly dismount his horse, tie it's reins to their gate, and walk past Erron as if he didn't exist at all.

Emilia was already out of the house, waiting by the door with a sour expression on her face and her arms crossed over a blue dress and white apron. Erron's Father reached the porch and slowly made his way to the door, grabbing Emilia's wrist as he walked past only to have it promptly ripped away as the blond's Ma marched down the steps. She too walked past Erron, who watched her cross the empty dirt street quickly and knock heavily on the Stewart's front door. Eventually, Susanna, with a look a concern on her face, opened the door and said something that Erron couldn't catch over the howling wind before letting Emilia inside and closing the door with a slam.

Thunder boomed across the prairie as Erron felt his chest constrict, pondering whether or not he should go to his Ma, who seemed to have picked the company of her best friend over the company of her children and her presumed dead husband, or go to his Father, who didn't seem alright if any of the strange events that just happened were any indication. Erron even briefly thought about finding Cecil, who was off doing God knows what for the Father Tom in the church, but quickly put that idea to rest. Eventually the blond settled on just returning to his place on the porch, the rain beginning to tumble down from the sky as he seated himself and closed his eyes to think.

The tornado never did come that day, but something much worse had instead.

**1851**

It was unexpectedly bitter outside in the wee hours of the morning, with the sun cresting just barely above the horizon line and the wind whipping fiercely around all the houses and shops in Nacogdoches. The land was still dark as Erron watched Rose appear from inside her front door, the racket his Father had made probably causing her to wake up. He adjusted himself so he was more comfortable on the side of the porch as Rose quickly crossed the street with a small flask in her hands, not bothering to check for wagons or horses on account of how early in the morning it was.

When she reached the fence, Erron rose to meet her at the spot where the fence door used to swing open before Samual had ripped it off in a fit of rage. Approaching the blonde with a wince everytime he stepped on his left foot, Erron watched Rose give him a small smile and then a half wave, holding out the flask invitingly when he was close enough to take it. Wrapping his hand around the neck gratefully, Erron opened it and quickly emptied it's contents into his mouth before swallowing the acidic liquid in one gulp.

"Well jeez. Coulda saved some for me, ya know."

Erron didn't answer his friend, instead deciding to start walking to the left down the dirt road without even acknowledging Rose at all. He just wanted to put as much space between him and the house as possible and if the blonde didn't feel like following him, that was fine. However, the light thumping of Rose's boots on the ground never faded and Erron had to curb the bubbly feeling filling his chest as he continued his lonely walk.

Erron eventually reached his destination, a small, abandoned Outpost fifteen minutes away from his home that swayed and shook when the wind was blowing. The little shack had been his asylum for the many nights in which his Father's temper had become too aggressive or when his Ma ran off to God-knows-where doing God-knows-what late in the evening when she thought Erron was asleep. Cecil, now old enough to begin working at the Church full time, didn't talk to his younger brother anymore, not since he moved out of their Father's house and into his own thirty minutes

Northward. Nobody knew about his safe spot except the girl standing behind him, who, as Erron turned around, was watching him with the sharp expression of pity in her green eyes.

It was a look that was making him extremely uncomfortable, so, to mask his own anger and hurt, Erron scowled and huffed, "What?" Rose didn't answer, her head cocked at an angle as she gazed at his face with crossed arms. The hairs on Erron's arm prickled when her gaze moved to his arms and then finally to the leg he was trying very hard not to put his full weight on. "I'm fine, Rose. Really I am." When she raised an eyebrow to signify she didn't believe him, Erron continued for good measure, "I was just stupid and fell right out of my damn bed in the middle of the night. Banged it up real good, I reckon."

Rose stepped forward, her eyes serious and concerned, as she reached out a hand and grabbed Erron's arm, the latter trying to contain a hiss as her delicate hands grazed over a tender spot. He tried to wiggle away, but Rose's grip was firm as she muttered, "Fell out of bed my ass." Her blonde hair wasn't up in a bun and was falling around her face as she carefully rolled up Erron's sleeve, freezing when Erron presumed she saw what he had been trying to hide. "_Jesus_," She breathed, her fingers stroking the bloodied wound that ran across his bicep and down to his elbow carefully, "You better get this cleaned 'fore it gets infected."

"I don't think it's that bad," Erron whispered, gently pulling his arm away from Rose and trying to pull his shirt sleeve back down before giving up to sit on the ground with his back pressed up against the Outpost wall. He placed the flask in his lap and rubbed his hands together, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his ankle as he stated sullenly, "I deserved it anyhow. I was beenin' an ass."

Rose dropped beside Erron, her dress pooling around her as she replied coldly, "And was the twisted ankle and the slap and the broken hand all yer doin' too? 'Cause I've known you for quite some time and, though you can be a pain in the neck at times, I've never felt the urge to hit you at all-"

"-Will ya just leave it alone?" Erron snapped, his head turning away from the blonde so that Rose couldn't see the shiny tears starting the prickle in his eyes. He picked up the flask again and, remembering that it was empty, sighed irritably and threw it to the side. "It ain't really yer place to be talkin' about such things anyhow. It's my business, not yers."

Brushing her hair out of her face, Rose sighed loudly before falling into silence, watching the sky erupt in orange and yellow stripes across the sky as the sun rose into view. They stayed like this for a few moments before Rose reached out her arm and linked it with Erron's, the latter tensing up as Rose stated quietly, "I wasn't tryin' to pry, alright? I just wanna make sure you were as right as rain and, even though I know you don't wanna right now, if you ever wanna talk about what's goin' on and such…" She paused and wiped the dirt off of her dress with her free hand before continuing, "You know where I am. I'm just right across the road."

Erron nodded his head at the end of her statement, willing himself to release the tension in his body as he leaned in closer to Rose, her presence and warmth allowing the tiny tears stuck in the corners of his eyes to slide freely down his face. "...I'll keep that in mind, Rose Stewart. I will keep that in mind."

**1853**

The explosion of gunfire wasn't a new sound to Erron. Hell, his Father went out into the backyard every afternoon, rifle strapped across his midsection and slung across his back, to practice his aim on low flying birds. It was one of the only things that could actually calm the raging man when he got into one of his moods, the steady sound of a gunshot after gunshot becoming more and more frequent during the night hours when Erron was trying to sleep and his mother was nowhere to be seen.

It was one of those nights when Samual Black pulled the weapon he was gifted from the army off of it's place on the mantle and stalked into the backyard, leaving Erron alone in the house once again. The blond sat back in one of the two chairs that was pulled up to a makeshift table, trying to distract himself with the Bible by flipping through scriptor after scriptor as his Father began firing. It wasn't his favorite activity to do in the slightest, but it pulled him out of his head for a bit and that's all that mattered at the moment. He rubbed at his sore arm each time the distinct sound of the weapon echoed into the fragile house, feeling a mixture of emotions that he didn't nor couldn't put any words to.

Several minutes passed, the blond's knee jumping in place from under the table, before Erron slammed the holy book back shut, rattling everything else on the fragile table, and ripped open the front door, not even bothering with a coat before storming over to the gate. He was intention was to go to the Outpost; It was far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear the infuriating rhythm of his Father's rage, but close enough so that he could sneak home before sunup. Clenching his fists, Erron opened the door and let it fall closed behind him as he started his trek westward, his gut telling him that he should just keep going until his legs gave out.

But he couldn't do that.

By the time he reached the Outpost, the stars were twinkling down at the young man each and every time he gave the common courtesy to look upwards and truly look at the constellations. It seemed almost magical with the rusted and muddied landscape blending like a watercolor of oranges, reds, and deep blue into the horizon in all directions. The shack stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of color, the tan and brown not fitting in with the magic that flitted all around in the air and on the ground. Erron quickly walked over to the Outpost and leaned his forehead against the splintered wall, the resounding echo of shot after shot of Samual's gun bouncing about in his head.

His thoughts were all over the place, the banging, shouting, crying, and screaming all mashing together into one huge modge podge of negative emotion in his head. It was almost overwhelming and Erron had place both forearms on the wall to steady himself so he didn't fall over. He let out a shaky breath and, sucking in lots of air to relax himself, spun around and slide down the wall until he was seated on the ground. Leaning his head back against the wall so he could look skyward, Erron began to count the tiny specks of illuminating light shining down on him as another method to sooth the colliding thoughts.

He smiled softly and played with the tiny bead he had sown on the inside of his shirt sleeve, remembering fondly the day he had taken it from Rose's Pa's shop and she had let him. The blond, if he was being honest with himself and really examined how he was feeling at the moment, wished that she was there with him, telling him all the amazing stories behind each of the patterns littering the night sky and guiding his finger to outline each of the maps perfectly by holding his wrist. When he was with Rose, he knew exactly how he felt because he didn't try to suppress it like he forced to around Cecil, his Ma, and Samual.

He almost fell asleep, his gut no longer aching from the angry and sad emotions hidden within, under that starlit sky and he would have too. But fate does what fate wants to do or, at least, that was Erron's mantra whenever his Father drank too much and decided to break something or someone.

Nonetheless, it was a bullet and it's loud explosion afterwards that shook the tiny shack from the other side and jolted Erron upright so fast he twisted his hurt leg. Erron yelped in pain, standing carefully by placing one hand on the Outpost wall, and loudly cursed into the night, "Wha' the Hell!?"

Of course his Father jumped to the forefront of his mind, his eyes cold yet burning, his mouth firm yet smiling as he pulled the trigger on his rifle, but it wasn't him and Erron knew it. There was no way he knew about the Outpost. The blond had MADE sure of it. It could be a bandit, but Erron wasn't scared of them in the slightest. What could be worse than his Father, right? Trying not to wobble as he put on an angry expression, Erron jogged around the corner of the shack, opening his mouth to scream at the intruder and scare the Hell out of them, but he, instead, stopped. And stared.

"Move outta the way, boy! I can't get a clear shot with you slack jawed and in the way!" And so, Erron, his blue eyes widening as he stepped out of range, watched as Susanna Stewart, her dress and blonde hair flying behind her in the wind, raised her very own rifle, the body painted brown and gold, to her eye and shot a hole perfectly through the Outpost wall. Erron watched with disbelief as Susanna lowered the gun and, blowing her curly hair out of her eyes, called to the blond, "You just gonna stand there all night with wide tail lights or are you gonna let me give you shooting lessons?"

"Slide the strap over yer shoulder for now. If or when you start usin' a weapon like this more, you ain't gonna use that strap like that alright? Slows ya down in the long run.

"Always use two hands for a gun that is longer than yer forearm. Shorter and you can use one, but you gotta practice yer balance. Usin' one hand for any gun longer is just askin' for shot to the knee.

"Both eyes open, you hear! Third time I've said this! You'll always be off yer target if ya don't!

"Brace yerself for the kickback. It'll feel like a punch to the shoulder the first few rounds, but soon it'll seem like old hat to ya.

"Don't put yer finger over the trigger unless you're gonna sh-" Susanna dove out of the way as a bullet shot way off in the wrong direction, Erron smarting in pain as he massaged his shoulder. He watched Rose's Ma stand up and tensed up out of instinct, the look she was giving him reminding him all too much of Samual before he went off the deep end. The blonde shook her head and, snatching the rifle from Erron's hands, said stiffly, "What did I just say?"

"Sorry, ma'am. It's just that I ain't used to these kinds-"

"Yeah, yeah. I can see that. I ain't blind," Susanna huffed as she rechambered the gun and placed it back into Erron's hands, her eyebrows knitted together in concentration and her red lips pursed slightly. "Try again, but, this time, try not aimin' at my kisser."

Erron nodded slightly, still feeling flighty after his rush of panic from moments before, and raised the rifle back to his shoulder, his left hand cradling the barrel as his right index finger rested on the trigger unsteadily. Biting the inside his cheek, he squinted through the gloom before widening his eyes to see better. A question entered his mind as he was about to pull the trigger and so, reluctantly, he moved his finger from the trigger and asked quietly, "How'd learn to, ya know, shoot? Did yer husband teach ya?"

"I taught myself. Focus on the target."

Erron tried to refocus on the Outpost, his posture rigid as he cursed internally, afraid he could get a whipping for his next question, and asked quietly, "Why- why're you teachin' me all of this? I didn't do nothin' to deserve it. We don't even talk that much..."

He turned away from the shack and gave Susanna a questioning look, her face a mask of stone that reflected a hidden emotion as she laced her fingers in front of her and muttered, "I talk to ya Ma all the time and-" She paused and looked upwards, seemingly searching for the right words to use, "And- and she tells me all I need to know, alright? I know how… it can be sometimes at yer folk's home. Like I said, I ain't blind." And that was that.

Satisfied with that answer, Erron returned his attention to the Outpost and, positioning his hands and feet correctly as he widened his eyes to get a better view, he squeezed the trigger and yelped as he felt the blunt end punch him square in the shoulder. The bullet whizzed into the corner of the Outpost and, although Erron wasn't entirely happy with his aim, at least he had hit the target. That was something, at least. He couldn't stop the smile growing on his face as he lowered the gun to the ground and faced Susanna, her face thoughtful as she crossed her arms and strained to see the bullet hole. Finally, after what felt like ages, Susanna smiled, patted Erron lightly on the back, and said heartedly, "Well shoot. That was pretty damn good for a second try! Keep shootin' like that and in a few years, you'll be the best shot around these parts! Hell, maybe even in Texas!"

Even though the compliment sounded forced, Erron couldn't help laughing merrily and rechambering the rifle himself, already placing the weapon back to his shoulder as Susanna said, "Straight back to business, Erron? Alrighty then, let's see if you can get even closer to the middle of the Outpost…"

**Warnings: Sexism**

**1854**

It was the day after Erron's sixteenth birthday that he finally managed to hit the damn Outpost point blank. "Oh Jesus!" Rose shouted from beside Erron, shaking his shoulders while laughing as he grinned and lowered the gun to the ground gently, the dull throbbing in his shoulder seeming like second nature by now, "Holy mother of God! Holy- Jesus Christ!" She was beaming, her blue eyes sparkling as she shook him again and whooped with joy, jumping and clapping her hands with delight as Erron shook his head with a newer, softer smile on his face. "Took you a full year, but you finally did it!"

Erron barked a laugh at that, lifting up Rose's Ma's rifle to pull the safety before placing it over his shoulder, and quirked an eyebrow at Rose as he stated, "That ain't as easy at it looks, darlin'. I'd like to see you try and shoot the broadside of the Outpost from thirty paces."

Rose thumped him on the back of the head lightly, ruffling his sandy hair as she shot back, "Betcha I would be a better student than you! Ma is always talkin' about how damn trigger happy you are. Almost shot of her damn face once."

Bumping his shoulder against Rose's roughly in an attempt to knock her off balance, Erron slung the strap of the rifle over his left shoulder and replied thoughtfully, "Think I almost shot her more than just the one time. Not on purpose, mind you. But still…" He started walking over to the Outpost, wanting to see the indent he had made in the wood for himself. To verify that he had actually shot and hit a target without Susanna's hand holding and to verify that yes, he could defend himself should the need arise. 'Cause that was the point to all of this, wasn't it?

Erron felt the strap around his torso tightened as he was pulled backwards, nearly falling all the way to the ground before he caught himself and turned around with a confused expression to see Rose looking happier than a cat that had just caught the canary. "You think yer a better learner than I am, Erron Black?" she asked teasingly as she wrapped her hand around the strap and tried to take the gun off of his shoulder. When the blond planted his arm and trapped the weapon to his body with a frown, Rose pouted, her eyes wide and innocent, as she asked, "I just wanna try the rifle, Erron! I ain't gonna shoot you in the face!"

"It took me a whole year to learn how to shoot a rifle right. What makes you think you can do it in a day?" Erron asked stubbornly, grabbing the gun from his side and holding it in both hands as if to examine it when really he wanted to hold it just in case Rose tried to grab it again. Which she did and was pushed away by her shoulder. Erron gave her look and said something he instantly regretted after the fact, "'Sides, a woman shouldn't really be holdin' a gun in the first place. It's too dangerous."

This time, Rose was the one who frowned, a look that seemed to age her by twenty years and make her all the more fearsome. Erron, who was trying to formulate an appropriate apology in his head because _damn_ did he sound like a hypocrite, had exactly three seconds before the blonde rushed forward and forcibly yanked the gun from his grasp. The young man stood shocked for a few moments, uncomfortably aware of everything around him, as Rose hissed while cocking the gun into place on her shoulder, "That's a mighty fine thing to say considerin' my MA was the one who taught you how to shoot in the first place."

Taking a step forward, Erron sighed and raised his hands in defeat before saying slowly, "Alright, alright. Yer right. I'm sorry, sugar. I guess I was just speakin' too much like Samual right there, but-"

"You don't need to be sorry," Rose countered, her eyes softening as she looked at Erron's ashamed form before her. She lowered the gun gently to her side, Erron watching her with a curious expression, before she said with a cheeky smile, "You can make it up to me by teachin' me everythin' you know."

Erron chuckled softly, placing his hands on his hips. before asking with a raised brow, "Everythin'?"

"Yes sir, everythin'!"

Erron smiled as he walked over to Rose in quick strides, the blonde watching him move over to her with practically glowing eyes that Erron never wanted to look away from. They held so much compassion and humor and forgiveness and just every type of good in the world and it was intoxicating to look at for the young man. He knew what the darkness was and how suffocating and lonely it can feel to someone who had to go through it alone, so the light that was presented to him in the form of Rose was almost ten times brighter than it would have been if he was surrounded by good all the time. It made him feel… special to be near her. And, in some ways, he couldn't stop the feeling that he was extremely lucky to have someone in his life like her.

Witty, kind, resourceful… beautiful…

An icy chill ran down his spine when his mind produced that word, the very word that he had known described her since he was very young. She was always beautiful and that was just the product of human reproduction. But now… the word had a completely new meaning.

"You just gonna stand there gobsmacked the whole time or are you gonna help?" Rose's voice pulled Erron from his thoughts, one eyebrow raised as she held the gun out to him with her right hand while the bright sun reflected against her blonde hair and surrounded her head in a kind of halo. Reaching slowly, Erron took the gun from Rose and demonstrated how to hold it properly, pointing out all of the places she watch out for before finally handing the weapon back over.

The young woman placed the blunt end of the gun to her shoulder at an awkward angle and Erron, slowly beginning to regain his composure, cleared his throat and muttered, "Yer at the wrong angle, Rose. Leanin' the barrel too far to the right."

Rose spared him a glace before replying, her voice (or maybe it was Erron's imagination) sounding higher than normal, "Then come fix it yerself, dumbass." After Erron walked to Rose's right side to push the weapon a little more towards the center, she smiled and said tightly, "This ain't comfortable. Get behind me and do it that way."

Letting out a little snort of embarrassment, Erron, whose heart was erratically beating in his chest, slowly made his way behind Rose, fitting his arms under hers and slowly covering her hands with his own as he positioned the gun perfectly at the target. He could hear her breathing deeply as he leaned over her shoulder and whispered, "The kickback's a bitch, remember that."

Rose chuckled under her breath, nodding her head slightly as she zoned in on the target. With a bang, she pulled the trigger and hit the Outpost with a satisfying thwack against the rotting wood.

Emilia, who was surprisingly present in the Black household when Cecil and his new wife were due to arrive, sat sternly across from Erron at their old table with a disapproving look in her eye as the awaited the newlywed's arrival. Her Bible sat in front of her and she scowled as she flipped through each of it's pages one after another with increasing anxiousness, her frown so deep it looked carved into her face like stone. Erron, for his part, tried not to look directly at the large black and blue mark adorning his Mother's arm. Or the bitmarks near her neck. "_¿Dónde está? Jesucristo, ¿dónde está?_" she muttered over and over again, practically tearing the pages in half while she searched for whatever scriptor she needed.

Wringing his hands together in his lap as he occasionally looked out the dirty window to his right to watch for his brother's arrival, Erron snapped his head back to Emilia as she slapped her palm against the table with an Aha! sound, apparently finding the paragraph she wanted. She used her left index finger to read down the page carefully, the blond growing bored quickly as his Mother's eyes flicked back and forth across the page eagerly. Erron tapped his foot against the floor impatiently, crossing his arms across his chest before muttering, "When're Cecil and Carmen even s'ppose to be here by?" He looked out the window and up to the sky, huffing when he saw the sun almost directly above as he gestured with his hand and continued, "It's already noon, for God's sake!"

Admittedly, putting God's name at the end of any sentence that wasn't already in accordance to a discussion about the Good Lord or his Holy Son was a foul-proof way to gain Emilia Black's attention. But, to Erron's curiosity, she didn't even flinch at his words. She was too busy reading the page she had found, her face forlorn with disappointment flickering behind her warm brown eyes. After watching his Mother for a few moments, he bit the inside of his cheek and leaned forward, his forearms pressed firmly to the table, to take a look at what Emilia was reading. The book closed quickly with a loud bang that had the young man reeling backwards.

"Oh no, _no lo sabes,_" Emilia snapped as she pushed her chair backwards from the table and, scooping the Bible into her hands, rose quickly, slapping the back of Erron's head hard as she passed by him to place the book on her bed.

Anger surged upward from Erron's stomach and, for a moment, his mind flashed with violent thoughts that would definitely add to the amount of bruises his Mother had. He was bigger and stronger than her as well… But, instead of acting on his impulses no matter the temptation, he clenched his hand into a fist and rose from his seat at the table. He walked to the door and flung it open, throwing a curt, "I'm goin' out," over his shoulder as he walked quickly down the steps of the porch towards the main road. Emilia didn't try to stop him.

There were quite a few horses and wagons of all shapes and sizes roaming the street as Erron approached the gate, the blond looking left and right as if his Father would come runnin' back from the local Saloon earlier than six o'clock in the evening. Once realising the coast was clear, Erron reached for the fence gate, planning on crossing the busy road to ask Mrs. Stewart if he could borrow her gun so he could go out to the old Outpost to practice his aim. Maybe if he was lucky, Rose would like to join him like she had last time… Erron smiled at the memory and managed to pull the gate open, carefully looking in both directions once more before he began walking out into the roadway.

A shadow fell over Erron's form from his right and, his face squinting in confusion as he let the gate close behind him, he barely moved out of the way fast enough to avoid getting hit by his brother's horse as it galloped right up to the fence with stamping hoofs and an unruly attitude. At the helm of the horse sat Cecil, his large black hat covering most of his face, except for his mouth, as he grinned down at his little brother with a smug look. Carmen sat behind him, looking more than a little sick as she quickly slide down the horse's side and braced herself on the fence, her red hair hanging in ringlets around her head. Erron ignored her and continued to stare at his brother, daring him to say anything as the brunette dismounted from his horse.

"Erron! How've you been?" Cecil asked enthusiastically once he was on the ground, taking his horse's reins and tying them tightly to the fence before walking over to his wife to rub her back soothingly. She smiled gratefully at her husband before giving Erron a haughty look that almost had him rolling his eyes and cursing her out on the spot. He decided then and there that he didn't like Carmen one bit, no matter how pretty she looked with her green eyes and blue dress that hugged her front just a bit too tightly to not be intentional.

Forcing a smile onto his face, Erron reached out his hand and shook Cecil's, his brother giving him a quizzical look as he responded between clenched teeth, "I've been doin' mighty fine, thank you for askin," he turned his attention to Carmen and focused on her spotted forehead as he continued, "Who is _this_ lovely creature you've brought home to meet Ma?"

Carmen fluttered her lashes proudly before answering in a lilting voice, "Carmen Black. Though I'm sure you already knew that considering how often Cecil talks about me to other folks." She laughed lightly before extending her hand to Erron and saying, "Though how could he _not_? I am the best thing that has ever happened to him."

She laughed again along with Cecil, both watching Erron force his own laugh up his throat as he took Carmen's hand and kissed it lightly. Perhaps it was a bit much for someone he just met, but Erron couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment. He just wanted to get out of the conversation and get away from Cecil and his new, perfect wife. Flattery seemed to be the way to do it.

Running a hand through his sweaty blond hair, Erron waited until the laughter died down around him before saying tightly, "Well, it was nice gettin' to meet ya, Mrs. Black." He winked at the end of the sentence, Cecil giving him a cold look as the blond continued nonchalantly, "I gotta go now. S'pposed to be meetin' someone and such."

Nodding his head in their direction to signify the end of the conversation, he quickly turned on his heel and started walking left, planning on walking to the corner and then looping back to the Stewart household from the opposite side of the street so that Cecil wouldn't see where he was going. "Sure, sure, I understand. Goin' to meet that bitch of yours always takes priority over yer family, right?" Erron clenched his jaw at his brother's words, hearing the hushed laughter of Carmen as he slowly turned around to give his brother a dark look.

Staring directly into Cecil's taunting eyes, Erron, after a few moments placed his sweetest and fakest smile on his face as he mimed tipping a hat and said with a sharp undertone, "Y'all just take care now, ya hear? God bless yer hearts." And then he walked away with a self-satisifying smirk taking permanent residence on his face for the rest of the night.

**1855**

"Move a little faster, slow poke," Rose stage whispered excitedly, pulling Erron's hand as they slowly made their way down the road to the Outpost where they were spending most of their time nowadays. Whether they were practicing with Susanna's rifle or were just simply lounging around as they enjoyed each other's company, the Outpost had quickly become a very important place to Erron, almost to the point where it felt sacred. He didn't want to bring anyone else to his remote hideaway, save for Rose and her Mama, and he probably never would if he could help it. The blond wanted to keep it as untainted from his family's bitterness as he was able to, knowing that as soon as Cecil or, even worse, his own _Father_ found out he had been sneaking out late at night to an abandoned shack to see a _girl_… let's just say the results wouldn't have been good.

Erron grinned as he saw the Outpost come into view, the dark shape in the distance no longer seeming as frightening or as lonely as it had been when he had first discovered it. The sky was alight with thousands of stars blazing down from above and the blond, slowing his pace as they neared the Outpost, pointed to the sky with his free hand and said, "See that one, right there? That's called Polaris. Brightest one of the bunch." Feeling brave, Erron lowered his hand and gave Rose a soft look, her eyes sparkling from the darkness as he muttered, "But… I don't think it even comes close to how brightly you shine, sweetheart."

Rose smiled fondly, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, as she stepped backwards and linked her arm with Erron's, slowly beginning to walk in tandem with the young man as she whispered, "You've been thinkin' about that one all night?"

"...Maybe I was… Was it terrible?"

Squeezing his arm, Rose shook her head and replied sweetly, "No… It was lovely. Really, it was." Feeling a weight lift off of his shoulders, Erron hummed and leaned into Rose's side, letting her guide him to backside of the Outpost. Bullet holes and the occasional bullet shells were scattered simultaneously across and below the wooden wall, sparkling dully in the gloom of the night like golden coins.

Rose pulled them to a stop right behind the wall and, sighing gently, leaned against the back wall so she could look skyward at the stars. Erron watched as wonderment crossed her features, his stomach doing flip flops, and, after clearing his throat, asked quietly, "What did you want to bring me out here to see, darlin'?"

The blond leaned his hip against the wall, with one hand on his belt loop and one holding Rose's hand, as he watched Rose's magical smile grow on her face. She turned her head away from the sky, squeezed his hand lightly, and nodded her head to the wide open plains in front of them. The canyon rocks to the West seemed to glow blue in the midnight haze and the prairie in front of them blew a soundless wind into their faces. Nacogdoches to the East was just a mass of twinkling lights and the road that wound it's way Northward seemed to span on forever and ever. To put simply, the land itself seemed electrified, maybe even magical.

Rose leaned in closer to Erron, taking both of his hands into her own as she stated simply, her voice smaller than it had been moments ago, "Just wanted to show you this." She gestured with one hand while Erron watched with a soft smile on his face, following her hand until it landed lightly on his chest. He knew that she must be able to feel his heart beating fast from where her hand had landed, gripping his blue shirt tightly as she bit her lip and looked at him with eyes that could hold a galaxy inside. Her eyes told such a story and Erron knew, right then and there, that his Rose, his beloved flower, was an old and beautiful soul. And that revelation almost brought him to tears.

Wrapping his hand around the small of her back gently, he cocked his head and waited for her to continue, feeling her shift forward slightly to tighten her grip to him. But the words never came.

The kiss was brief, only a slight press of chapped lips to chapped lips that could have been technically classified as a brush rather than an actually kiss. The feeling of elation left Erron dizzy anyway as he stared at Rose with a smile so wide it physically hurt. Rose, for her part, was bright red around her ears and hiding her face in Erron's chest, the latter slowly running his hand up and down her back while she relaxed. She eventually mumbled, "I'm… I'm sorry if that was out of line. I just- I don't know, goddamnit- I just felt like-"

"You don't have to be sorry." Erron stopped his moving hand and stepped away, placing his hands on either sides of her arms to look at her face fully. She smiled shyly when he brought his face a little closer, his own embarrassment showing up in the way he was shuffling his feet on the ground. "I… uh… was wonderin' if maybe I could…?"

She nodded slightly and that was that. Erron slowly closed the gap again, this time initiating the kiss, and locked his lips with Rose's, hands finding their way back to her waist as her hands snaked in between their bodies and cupped his face gently. It wasn't sensual or sexual in any means. But it was perfect all the same. Every once and awhile, Erron or Rose would pull away to whisper faintly to each other positive and encouraging affirmations before pulling themselves back together to continue their kiss.

Time and space seemed to pause while they kissed, prolonging the rise of the Morning Star in the East while the electricity crackled between them. And Erron, his blue eyes soft when they pulled away once more, wished fervently with his entire being and soul that the Sun would never rise.

**Warnings: Mentally Abusive Behavior**

Six o'clock came quicker than Erron would have liked. His Ma had still not returned from wherever she had been spending her days, quietly excusing herself from the table after lunch had concluded many hours ago, as the blond watched his Father open the gate outside and stumble through, his shaky movements alerting Erron that Samual was indeed exceedingly drunk. He inhaled deeply and clutched at the Bible in his hands, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip around the book in a feeble attempt to keep himself calm. The blond knew how his Father reacted whenever Emilia wasn't home when he returned from the Saloon and, since she was nowhere to be found, Erron concluded that Samual would take his anger out on him instead. And that, though it shamed him greatly, scared Erron to the core.

Clomping footsteps stomped on the porch and suddenly the door was pushed open, the growing light from the rising sun spilling onto the floor of the small house as Samual turned and glared at his youngest son. Erron held the gaze as his knee started to jump anxiously under the table. It was a mental struggle to get it to stay still. Looking away, Samual quickly scanned the room as he leaned his forearms on the doorframe and asked roughly, "The Hell's yer Mother?"

Erron swallowed thickly and tried to think of an excuse to not answer his Father's question. He watched as his Father stepped out of the doorframe, letting the door close behind him with a thud, before answering quietly, "Don't know, sir. She's been out all night." He cringed at the words he had chosen to use, slowly standing by pushing his chair backwards with a scraping noise so he could begin inching towards the door and escape to the outside.

Samual's face darkened, giving his son a fearful fluttering feeling in his stomach, as he turned to fully face Erron, his eyes red and bloodshot and his own blond beard overgrown and mangly. "Out all night, you said?" Erron knew the question was meant to trick him, meant to make him say just where Emilia had been stalking' off to each afternoon to early in the morning. His Father wasn't stupid; He knew that Emilia hadn't been around much when he returned home anymore.

Opting to only nod at his Father's question, Erron quickly walked around the table and made a beeline for the door, wanting to just end the conversation and get out of the house as quickly as possible. He wasn't going to rat out his Ma, no matter how she treated him, to his Father because _nobody_ deserved that. Not even the woman who had basically abandoned him since his Father had returned…

A large hand grabbed his wrist as he reached for the door handle and yanked hard, pulling the young man backwards with a yelp. His wrist felt like it was being wrenched from it's socket as he whipped around to see Samual boring holes into his head, his hand tightening and tightening over his wrist until the bones felt like they would snap. Jesus, it was beginning to hurt. Erron leaned away when his Father leaned forward, his breath smelling of the cheap whiskey they sold at the Saloon, and muttered it his ear, "If you happen to see 'er in yer travels, boy, tell 'er 'er lovin' husband is waitin' for 'er at home."

He let go of Erron's wrist then, the blond stumbling backwards to put as much space between them as possible while a sick feeling sank low into the pit of his stomach. The blond waited until this Father had turned his bloodied eyes towards the bed and began walking over to it before turning his head slightly to open the door in front of him. He gripped the metal handle and quickly turned the knob, walking out the door before the man inside could say anything else to him that could leave him feeling hollow and powerless. He breathed deeply once on the porch, cursing his Father once under his breath, before walking down the steps and out into the morning sun.

**Warnings: Sexual Content**

The Outpost wall felt scratchy and unpleasant against Erron's back, but he couldn't have cared less at the moment. He took the flask in Rose's hands once more and took a generous swig before laughing at the absurdity of sitting outside in the middle of the blazing heat of mid-day with Rose's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, where absolutely _anyone _could see them, while they passed a flask of whiskey between the two of them, usually accompanied by small kisses that still left Erron realing each time they connected.

Sitting up to grab the canteen in Erron's hands, Rose, who was just a few short sips away from diving into black out drunk territory, lazily pulled the flask from his hand and drank the contents languidly before muttering to the drink, "Sooo… Yer not too busy later, are ya?" She turned to look at Erron, who had sat up to be more comfortable now that the blonde had moved, and gave him a once over with her big, blue eyes that were beginning to glitter with mischief before whispering again, "Yer busy later or…?"

A warm feeling enveloped his body, something that was not completely foreign to him when he was around Rose, as he pushed away from the wall and grabbed the flask from her hand again, his hand slightly trembling as he mulled over her words in his mind, turning them around over and over again before a small inkling of understanding trickled into his consciousness. And then it was all he could think about, a blush slowly making it's way to his ears and cheeks as he felt Rose's warm hand rest acutely on his thigh and begin to rub slowly up and down in a soothing gesture that reminded him a bit too much of-

The rest of the drink was gone in a flash and the flask was discarded beside Erron quickly as he stared into Rose's eyes, running his hand up her arm before tugging her gently towards himself. He honest to God prayed that he had read the signs right and wasn't about to do something he would regret later with someone he cared about so much. But, once the blonde had settled in between his legs with both hands clutching his shirt tightly with a smirk on her face, he let most of the unpleasant thoughts buzzing in his head become background noise, allowing the sticky stupor of the hot Texas weather and the fuzzy thoughts in his brain completely take over and do what they pleased.

The blond cupped Rose's face with one hand as the other wandered down her back, absentmindedly playing with the ribbons and ties holding her pink dress to her body, before kissing her softly, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss after a few moments of the young woman running her hands up and down his chest and shoulders. Erron breathed in shakely when he pulled away, already beginning to feel too hot in all his clothing, and felt Rose's fingernails scratch his shoulders slightly. elicited a soft groan to tumble from his lips.

Both hands were quickly at her back then, unworking the ties and ribbons holding everything in place as Rose began to slowly unbutton his shirt painfully, maybe even wickedly, slow. The bare skin of her back felt as soft as silk as the blond slowly began to pull the dress down over her shoulders, his pants growing tighter and tighter at each piece of skin that was revealed to him. One hand was then braced on the ground as Rose pushed him backwards, back up against the Outpost wall, and kissed him again, using one of her hands to pull her hair loose to let it fall around her face as she pressed her body against his and swiped her tongue across his bottom lip.

A louder groan was pulled from his lips and Erron flushed with embarrassment, Rose smiling against his lips before leaning back and hovering her hands over his crotch. The young man chased her lips, using one of his arms to encircle her waist to almost force her closer to him, before Rose placed her hands on either side of Erron's thighs, caging in her destination, and breathed on his lips, "Well… are ya busy or not?"

Forming words was hard, Erron discovered, when his dick was throbbing painfully in the confines of his jeans. Trying to chase her lips again, his arm tightening around her as he pulled her tightly to his body, drawing a quiet moan from the young woman, as he nodded and replied raspily, "I- I think I've got some time to spare…"

The night was quiet and it was extremely uncomfortable for the blond. He was so used to walking around the streets of Nacogdoches with Rose practically attached to his hip, so being alone in a nearly silent town where it was almost never silent was unnerving to say the least. He carefully stuck his hands in his pockets as he slowly made his way past rows of darkened wooden buildings and sunken alleyways, making his way quickly back to his home and silently dreading it all the way. Maybe, if he was lucky, Samual wouldn't even be there or would be passed out drunk on the bed by the time he arrived home. _If_ he was lucky. Luck hadn't really been a friend of his as of late. Well, he thought with a small smile and soft chuckle, 'cept for Rose, of course.

It honestly infuriated him to no end that he was so petrified of his Father, who was just a stupid drunk that couldn't throw a decent punch even if he tried. It had to be because of the things the blond had seen Samual do to his Ma, but even those deeds weren't so bad… From what he had seen at least. His mind wandered back to the marks, the hickies, he had seen wandering all over Emilia's neck and shoulders and shuddered, pulling his jacket closer about his shoulders even though there was no wind. The more he thought about how his Father treated him and Emilia, the more anger he could feel swirling in his gut. It was only a matter of time, Erron knew, before someone put Samual in his place. He just hoped it was sooner rather than later.

The crunching of his footsteps echoed through the town at a volume that Erron didn't like. He practically began jogging down the road as he passed building after building and slowly started seeing the silhouette of his house in the distance. So intent upon reaching his home so that he could just quietly slink into bed and go to sleep that the blond didn't hear or see anything move in the shadows in an alley directly across from his home until he had already walked past and had enough time to process what he had just heard.

He stopped, his face settling into a deep frown, as he slowly spun on his heel and backtracked to the alley, really getting a good look at the inky blackness that encircled the indent in between Mister Stewart's General Store and Rose's home. He heard the noise again; It sounded like hushed whispers followed by sharp pleas and cut off moans. The flickering light of a lantern stood nearby, casting a tiny sliver of light onto the two forms as they writhed against each other in partially undressed clothing. Erron breathed in sharply and looked away, stepping back from the alleyway as his thoughts began to swim anxiously in his mind.

Prostitution was illegal, wasn't it? Shouldn't he inform the Sheriff? He was only a quick five minute walk eastward- Another squeal of pleasure rocked out from the hallway, definitely a woman's voice, followed by a silky voice stage whispering sweet nothings to the woman… And that voice was definitely female as well.

To say Erron was floored when that realization came creeping into his mind would be an understatement. He was positively mortified. He may not have loved reading the Holy Book much growing up nor could he remember everything the Book stated, but he did know what sodomy was. And that, according to the Bible and the actual laws surrounding Nacogdoches and all her neighboring towns, it was against the law.

Inhaling sharply once more, beginning to tap his foot on the ground, Erron walked away from the alleyway, his mind completely frazzled from what he had just witnessed, and walked across the dirt road to his house, opening and shutting the gate quietly and approaching the front door.

He still couldn't believe what he had heard, his mind beginning to pull in two very distinct directions, as he grasped the metal handle firmly and, before opening the door to sneak inside, paused to think for a moment. The Sheriff would definitely want to hear about this, the blond thought anxiously, Shouldn't- that- be punished? It's… I don't know… It's-. The words he wanted to use weren't something he was overly proud to admit, but the words different and interesting entered his mind before he could squash them down. It made him feel ashamed and excited at the same time, a combination of emotions that wiggled their way into his mind on there own accord and took him completely by surprise.

After pondering for a few minutes more, trying and failing to find disgust and not interest in what he had just heard and seen finally sighed and twisted the door handle, the hand of sleep slowly guiding him into his house where he happily saw that Samual was not home yet.

His good mood didn't last long after he saw the fireplace burning brightly from the corner of the room, the smoldering remains of his Ma's bible curling and blackening in the flames as a sick wave of understanding washed over Erron.

**Warnings: Graphic Violence / Physically Abusive Behavior**

"What is that?"

Erron looked up from his seat at the table, his Father's eyes fixed menacingly on his Ma as she looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Why Samual was even home at this time of day and not off drowning in an alcoholic concoction of his choosing at the Saloon was somewhat of a mystery, but Erron knew it probably had something to do with his Ma sneaking off every day to… Erron shivered almost involuntarily as the hairs on his arms prickled with goosebumps. The good and bad kinds. It was all very confusing and Erron almost wanted to growl in frustration.

But he was distracted by his Father raising the knife that he had been holding tightly in his right hand to point at Emilia and growl lowly with pinpricks for eyes, "Don't remember givin' ya that one, sugarplum."

The brunette beside Samual shrugged her shoulders and said nonchalantly, "I don't understand what you mean." She wiped her hands on the apron she wore and looked at her lap, seemingly trying to play the _no puedo hablar inglés_ card on his Father. Erron bit the inside of his cheek, the lie painfully obvious on Emilia's face.

The knife inched closer and Erron froze, forcing his lungs to keep breathing as he watched Samual grunt in acknowledgement and hiss, "Yer lyin' to me."

"No I ain't. I would nev-"

"LIER!"

Erron jumped as Samual threw the knife against the wall, the utensil sticking out from the wooden boards, and grabbed Emilia by the neck, the woman crying out in pain and thrashing about as she was dragged from her spot at the table. He watched for a few horrifying seconds as his Father slowly began to crush his Ma's windpipe before he rose from his seat as well and shouted, "PA! Let her go! She didn't do nothin'!" Two steps and he was beside his Father, ripping at the fingers that were holding Emilia by her throat with both hands before realizing that was hopeless and kicked Samual in the leg. Hard.

The man howled and released his Ma, the brunette tumbling to the floor as she started shaking and crying while pulling into the fetal position and scooching backwards so that she was against the wall. Erron, adrenaline beginning to pump steadily through his veins, managed to avoid one of his Father's fists from connecting with his jaw. However, he didn't anticipate a second fist coming from his left and connecting with his stomach. The force of the punch threw the blond backwards, his head smashing hard against the edge of the table and effectively breaking it at the same time.

Dizziness began to cloud his vision as the overwhelming feeling of nausea took over, his hands shaking with pain and rage while blood trickled down from a large gash that went through his left eyebrow and into his eye. His leg was already killing him as he tried to stand by placing a hand on the wall, searching through his impared vision for his Father before finding him effectively pinning Emilia to the floor with both hands over her neck.

Screaming was all Erron could hear and he surged forward, trying to rip his Father off of Emilia only to almost be cut again by the knife Samual must have retrieved from the wall. Panic began to lace every part of his body as Erron stumbled backwards, nearly falling into the fire that had been so carefully prepared only hours ago. Tears of rage, frustration, fear, and desperation began to drip down his face, mixing with the blood in a violent concoction. His eyes flew about the room, searching for something, _anything_, that would get Samual off of his Ma, her screams turning to gargles as more time passed and the closer the knife got to her head.

Wanting to scream in frustration, Erron ran for one of the chairs that sat around the decimated table, planning on slamming his Father over the head and knocking him out cold so that Emilia and him could get the Hell out. But… then his eyes landed on a sleeker, more efficient weapon that laid haphazardly on top of the mantle…

It only took one shot to kill his Father. One shot and then, once the fear slowly eased out of his bones and Emilia was unconscious yet breathing shallowly on the floor, the realization of what he had just done settled inside of him like a stone. He felt shocked, almost to the point of numbness, as he let the rifle fall slowly to his feet, his blue eyes wide and forlorn. He choked and almost felt like throwing up again, doubling over and clutching his stomach as he gagged a few times over his Father's corpse.

Straightening, he saw many, many, _many_ lights begin to fill up the road and surrounding houses and suddenly the fear was back and he felt a spike of pain from his head as he understood what he had to do. He had to leave Nacogdoches. Now. And probably never come back, if he could help it.

A knock at the door caused him to jump and let out a yelp, his hands tightening into fists and going white as he approached the door. He was half expecting to see the Sheriff with pistols pointed at him standing in the doorway with a warrant for his arrest and execution when he opened the front door, the murder weighing so heavily on his mind that he couldn't think rationally at this point.

The moonlight from outside framed Rose's blonde hair and almost made it look white, her features pulled into a concerned expression as she folded her hands in front of her. Erron almost wanted to cry with relief, but then he looked at her face and at how haunted she looked at the scene before her with sunken eyes. Eventually, her eyes turned downwards and, judging by the way her eyes widened and how she shuddered, the young man knew she could see the blood making it's way slowly across the floor.

"Wha…?" The blonde began, beginning to fidget were she stood as Erron watched with a grim look on his face, "Did… you- Did you kill…"

She didn't finish her thought, instead looking at Erron's face for any sort of answer without having to ask what would invidently have to be asked. Erron tried to compose himself in front of Rose, tried to keep the tears from rolling down his face and tried to silent the whimpers building in his throat as he nodded his head and closed the door behind him, blocking the rest of the gruesome sight from Rose's view.

The blonde didn't speak for a few seconds, her eyes betraying no emotion except contemplation to Erron, and grabbed the young man's hand instead, lacing their fingers together while she thought. The touch was very much welcome and Erron resisted the urge to hug the blonde in front of him. She looked like she didn't want that right now.

Finally, she spoke, her words cool and calculated, "You need to leave, then."

He nodded and she pulled, leading him quickly down the steps of the porch and out of the gate to the dirt road, a few of the neighbors peeking their heads out through their windows or walking out into the street to see what all the commotion was about. They moved down the alleyway, where Erron had seen his Mother only a few weeks ago, and stopped in front of the horse stalls that Mister Stewart had made at the back of his house. Rose let go of his hand and quickly opened the first stall door, the familiar stallion Percy already beginning to prance about in anticipation as he was led into the narrow alleyway.

Gripping the reigns tightly, Rose took Erron's hand and placed them in his palm as she whispered, "You know how to ride, right?" After he nodded his head, Rose muttered, "Good. Now get on the horse."

After a few tries, Erron found himself situated nicely on the stallion's back, his knuckles white as he held the reins like a lifeline and, eventually, ran a hand through Percy's mane.

"Are you comin'?"

…

Hard lines and an even harder expression answered his question loud and clear. "Head up to Dallas," Rose replied instead, her eyes looking at anything except Erron, whose heart was sinking faster and faster by the second, "That should be far enough. It's a big city too… Should be plenty of work."

Erron smiled sadly at Rose, mapping her face, her body, and everything else and committing it to memory. He knew he probably would never see her again either…

...And he was right.


	2. Apate :: Deceit

**Warnings: Racism / Mentions of Slavery**

The wagon was right there. Not only was it not being watched, but it was also completely prepped and ready to go. Erron watched from his crotched position behind a barrel, bouncing his knee impatiently as he watched the oxen at the front of the cloth wagon flex and pull at their harnesses. The blond had been watching this wagon for about an hour, if the sun was anything to go by, and knew for a fact that the man who owned the wagon had plenty of food and drink he had been stockpiling into the carriage throughout the whole day. And the man had been gone for all of twenty minutes, disappearing into a large General Store as he muttered something about shotgun shells.

Erron knew that stealing wasn't the right thing to do, but it wasn't like he had eaten or drank anything over the past few days. He, as much as he hated to, had already sold Percy in the main square of Dallas to just to get 20 cents worth of food and that had been almost four days ago. The blond knew that if he didn't eat soon, he would starve to death. His stomach growled in agreement, the action painful enough that Erron placed one hand on his stomach and one of the ground to keep himself from doubling over, and carefully, oh so carefully, he rose from his hiding space, trying to be as calm and unnoticeable as possible.

He looked over his shoulder once and then once again as he stepped out from behind the barrel, his paranoia growing as thoughts such as someone would recognize him or, even worse, someone from Nacogdoches was following him and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to drag him kicking and screaming to the Hangman's Noose were getting the better of him. Grunting in pain from his numb legs, Erron maneuvered out from behind the barrel and walked leisurely over to the wagon, making sure to not walk too slow and not walk too fast. He gave the entrance to the General Store a sidelong glance as he passed, but nothing stirred within.

Placing both of his hands on the flap of cloth that hung over the back of the wagon and giving one final look around the busy, bustling street for anyone suspicious looking, Erron quickly hoisted himself inside of the wagon, landing with an oof and sitting up straight immediately to look at the goods. There were various mason jars filled to the brim with canned vegetables, pickled fruits, and many different types of meat and the blond could feel the inside of his mouth began to salivate while his blue eyes drifted from jar to jar to jar.

Opening the flip just the tiniest bit to peer out and make sure no one was approaching the wagon, Erron hummed with approval and took two of the biggest jars, one with vegetables and one with buffalo meat, in his hands. He weighed them carefully, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about how in the Hell he was going to get out of this wagon without someone suspecting a robbery. Finally shrugging his shoulders, he placed one jar under each of his arms and shuffled towards the exit on his knees. He cursed lightly when he felt a splinter dig into his knee and, trying to ignore the new pain as much as possible, placed one jar on the ground and reached for the cloth flap to push it aside.

The man beat him to it however. Erron froze, staring into the face of a black man about his height with skinny arms and an even skinnier waist. The blond barely breathed as the realisation he had been caught poked him instantly in the back of the head, the man's brown eyes narrowing as he placed the box of shells on the ground outside of the wagon. The young man knew he could _try_ and make a run for it, but hardly doubted he would make it far. The man was in such good shape, he probably wouldn't even need to run and would still catch the blond.

The man placed his forearms on the edge of the wagon and, raising a brow, asked deeply, "What're doin' in here, friend? Don't you know this ain't yer wagon?" His eyes drifted to the jars under Erron's arms and, after sighing deeply, stated slowly, "Though, considerin' yer takin' them jars, I'm sure you already knew that."

Setting both jars back on the ground uneasily, Erron cleared his throat and said lightly, "Was just lookin' for work, sir. Thought I saw you in here, is all. Yer Master nearby or somethin'? Maybe I could talk to him?"

The man's face darkened and he rolled his eyes before snapping, "You wanna talk to the Master, yer lookin' right at him. I bought my freedom, friend, so don't go assumin' things you don't understand." He took the box of shotgun shells in his arms and threw them into the back of the wagon, narrowly missing Erron as the blond dove out of the way. "Now get."

"I'm mighty sorry, Mister," Erron stammered awkwardly as he slide slowly towards the exit of the wagon, feeling stupid for insuating something _that _personal for someone he just met. His Ma, though a witch at times, had raised him better than that after all. He dangled his legs over the side of the wagon and, even though he knew he probably shouldn't, he asked, "So, uh, where are you headin' to?"

"Is that any of yer damn business?" the man retorted as he moved away from Erron, heading towards the front of the wagon and pulling the reins tight into his hand as he climbed onto the seat on top, "Northwards is all you need to know."

And like that, a lightbulb went off in Erron's head. He jumped down from his seat and walked briskly to the front of the wagon, his eyes trying to gain the man's attention as he announced, "Well… It just so happens that I'm headin' North too." The man gave him an unbelieving look as Erron continued with his lie, "Lookin' for my own place in the world. Just wanna branch out, ya know?"

The man snorted and said curtly, "I ain't takin' you nowhere, if that's what yer lookin' for." He tipped his hat at Erron and the blond had to swallow the anger building his gut as the man gave the oxen the whip and they started to pull away from the General Store. "Have a fine day, friend! Next time, don't be so rude with yer introductions!"

And so, Erron did the only logical thing he could think of in his brief moment of anger and panic at not having any food for another day. He quickly jogged after the wagon and slide back inside the flap, trying to be as smooth and quiet as possible. His head ached from the jostling motion of the wagon, but he eventually grew relaxed enough where he could comfortably curl into the corner of the wagon and drift into a peaceful sleep.

**Warnings: Racial Slurs (But they're bleeped out)**

The first thing he registered was cold water splashing onto his face, leaving the blond a sputtering and soaking mess as he sat upright and disoriented himself in the process. The second and more pressing thing he registered was a revolver pointed directly in between his eyes. "Jesus Christ," Erron grumbled when he saw the man frown from behind the barrel of the gun, his body painfully aware of how close to the gun he really was. One false move and boom! He was as good as gone.

The man growled and shoved him with the tip of the barrel as he hissed, "The Hell are you still doin' here, you damn idjit! Didn't I tell you to scram back in Dallas?!"

Back in Dallas? That must mean they were far along the route the man had planned. Maybe. They could be just on the outskirts of Dallas for all he knew. Erron covered his mouth as he yawned, carefully locating the nearest mason jar just in case things got out of hand, before replying waspishly, "You did. But I didn't listen." He then reached behind him and grabbed one of the jars, holding it in front of him as he attempted to take off the sealed lid with just his hand. He knew he was pressing his luck, but, _damn_, he was hungry. "Why's a fella such as yerself got all this food anyways? How far North are you even planning on goin'?"

The gun clicked into place and Erron froze, his eyes rising from his work on the mason jar to give the man a confused look as a sharp jab of fear echoed in his ribcage. He lowered the jar back to ground and raised his hands in defeat, watching as the man scowled and said lowly, "I don't know who you are or why you just happened to chose _my_ wagon of all the choices you had back in Dallas. But I'm warnin' you, boy," he tapped Erron sharply on the chest and the blond held his breath as he anticipated the gun to go off, "If you think for one _damn_ minute that I'm just one of them push over n*gg*rs that you can just take from and do whatever the Hell you want to, you've gone and barked up the wrong tree."

Erron watched as the gun was pulled away and placed delicately back into the hostler at his side, the man's expression never leaving a frowning mask as he pulled the cloth flap shut again and walked away, leaving the blond more than a little confused. He could've shot him and yet he hadn't. Erron had been the one to sneak onto his wagon and attempt to steal his food and _still_ the man hadn't shot him. Huh. Lifting the flap ever so slightly, feeling the man climb back onto his seat on the other side of the wagon, Erron could see nothing about plains and prairie lands spaning in all directions. The moon was out and cast a silvery shadow over the wagon, lighting the land in a simple glow that brought back waves of emotion the Erron _really_ didn't want to deal with right then. Maybe later he would, probably he wouldn't.

Closing the flap and leaning back into the carriage, the blond, assuming what the man didn't know couldn't hurt him, began to slowly open the mason jar of green beans he had been trying to open earlier, the steady thumping of the oxen's hoofs on the ground relaxing his mind as he finally opened the seal with a satisfying pop. "So tell me somethin'," the blond began, hoping that the man could hear him from his seat at the front as he dipped his hand into the jar, "If yer not gonna shoot me and yer not gonna make get out of yer wagon, you could at least have the courtesy to tell a fella where the Hell he's headin' to."

No sound was heard for quite some time, except, of course, the sound of Erron slurping the old green beans into his mouth as if it were the most delicious thing on the planet even though it most definitely was NOT. Through the small holes in the cloth that covered the wagon, the blond could see the flickering lights of fireflies blinking on and off over and over again as a faint smile growing on his face. They almost looked like stars, just closer and not quite as hot. It was once he had finished the jar of green beans and had discarded the bottle beside himself with a sigh when the man finally answered him gruffly, "We're goin' to the Kansas Territory."

The inn wasn't something extravicate, but it would have to do. The wagon halted directly outside it's double doors, the man quickly jumping down from his seat to go speak with the innkeeper about staying the night. Erron, who had been slowly but surely making his way through a jar of peaches, placed the jar on the ground of the wagon and quickly slid to the edge of the cloth flap, jumping down onto the earth with a thud. Tying up the flap behind him so that nobody would get any ideas about stealing the food, the blond smirked at the irony and quickly went around to the front of the wagon to pat one of the oxen lightly on the back.

Waiting patiently for the man to return so that he could lead the oxen to somewhere less in the way for other patrons of the inn, Erron breathed out loudly and leaned on the wooden frame that held the wagon together, crossing his arms as he leaned precariously. If the blond was being honest, he didn't really want to stay the night at the inn and instead just wanted to plow on ahead straight into the Uncharted Native Territory to the North. But, as the man had pointed not just twenty minutes prior, the oxen had been pullin' the heavy wagon for almost two days without rest and that wasn't healthy. "Plus," the man had grumbled when Erron started to protest, "It'll be good to get out of the wagon fer a bit. Get some fresh air and whatnot. It'll be nice, you just wait and see."

Well, truth be told, Erron wasn't getting a good feeling about just sittin' around in front of the Inn with limited protection and then about goin' into Inn to actually sleep there for a night… But maybe that was just his paranoia getting the best of him again. Huffing, he scratched the back of the oxen again and tried to get his mind off of Nacogdoches by counting the amount of people going in and out of the busy Inn. It was just on the outskirts of a small town that Erron couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. It didn't really matter anyhow; They'd only be staying for the night.

The door to the Inn slammed and out stormed the man, his face a mixture of anger and frustration as he mumbled something to himself as he approached the wagon. Erron frowned and asked, "Somethin' the matter? What's goin' on?"

"We gotta keep movin'." Erron made a face as the man climbed back onto the wagon, his hands white as he pulled the reins sharply on the oxen. They had just gotten here. Why were they leaving so soon? When Erron didn't move, the man looked sharply at the blond and snapped as he jammed his thumb at the back of the wagon, "Get in the damn wagon. We're gonna try to make the next town before dark."

Begrudgingly, Erron rolled his eyes and moved away from the oxen, walking quickly back to end of the wagon and, untying the knots he had put together so nicely as quickly as he possibly could, slipped in with a sigh of discontentment. "Don't understand why we have to leave so soon when we just got here," he began once he had settled into a comfortable position on the wooden boards, feeling the wagon jostle and jolt anew as they pulled away from the Inn. He reached for the jar of peaches he didn't get to finish from earlier and tried to eat. He wasn't very hungry though. He discarded the jar to side and sighed, a realisation beginning to dawn on him that he didn't like. "You know… I could've gone and talked to the Innkeeper for you…" Erron said softly as he moved to the front of the wagon, moving aside the cloth so that he could rest his forearms on the seat that the man was sitting on.

The man snorted and shook his slightly, looking over his right shoulder and back the way they had come before muttering, "Wouldn't have been safe anyhow. One of us would probably have to stay up all night." He laughed unhappily and looked back over his shoulder as he sighed and returned his gaze forward.

He was tired, both physically and mentally. It was painfully obvious for the blond, who sat up slowly, flexing his muscles as he went, and climbed out of the back part of the wagon to sit in the seat beside the man. It was awkward, but Erron didn't really care. He grabbed the reins from the man's slender fingers and said lightly, "You want me to get us to the next town while you get some sleep? I don't mind."

The man looked at him uneasily, almost seemingly having a debate internally about whether he should take the blond up on his offer. Finally, the man fixed Erron with a hard look and said, "I'll be the only one takin' us places, friend." He snatched the reins back and continued with downcasted eyes, his tone softer this time, "...Thanks fer the offer. You'll understand if I don't except…"

"'Course," Erron replied easily, making his way back inside the wagon as a wave of sympathy washed over him for the man. He understood now and felt mighty terrible for even offering to in the first place.

Just as he was about to close the cloth flap, he heard the man say gruffly with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Since yer sure as Hell not guidin', least you can do is keep me company."

Erron smiled and quickly slide back into his seat, watching as wagons and horses trotted by on their left as the man began rambling about the town they would soon be coming up to. The blond nodded along when it was appropriate, losing himself to the conversation as the light began to grow thinner around them and the darkness started to creep in.

**1856**

Sometimes, on the really bad nights, Erron would get nightmares. The real vivid kind where it would feel like he was reliving what happened back in Nacogdoches over and over again, but different people were swapped around in the story. Some nights, he was one being choked by his Father on the floor, not Emilia. Sometimes, Rose was the one who shot his father right between the eyes as the blond lay distressed in the corner, paralised with fear. Once, the blond held the gun alright and, instead of shooting Samual, shot Rose, his beloved flower, in the chest, watching her bleed out onto the floor as she screamed in pain and clutched her side with tears rolling down her face. That dream was always the worst.

No matter what, he always awoke gasping for breath, his hands shaking and his breathing shallow as he leaned back against the wall of the wagon and pulled his knees to chest. It wasn't real and he knew it; he hadn't actually shot Rose and watched her die in front of him. But he had shot his Father and, even if that sonofabitch deserved it, he still felt guilt swirling uneasily in his gut. He tried willing it away several times, but nothing seemed to work.

The man sat up from his place across the wagon, rubbing his own sleep from his eyes as he asked groggily, "Is it mornin' already?" He yawned and gave Erron a quizzical look, the blond removing his hands from his knees as he shook his head no with a bite to the inside of his cheek. The man groaned and asked with exasperation in his voice, "Then why'd you wake me up? I gotta get up early to deal with the damn oxen anyways."

"Didn't mean to wake ya," Erron replied tiredly, running a hand through his matted hair in an attempt to smooth it out. He hadn't had a wash in quite a few days and the grim was finally starting to get to him. And it took a _lot _of grim to really upset the blond enough where he would start wanting to look for a bath. He stretched, popping his joints in place, as he slowly rose to his feet and stated while walking around the man, "Go back to sleep. I'll deal with them stupid cows."

The man frowned and sat up, swiping at his arm as a fly landed there before he snipped, "Now don't you worry 'bout a thing. _I'll _deal with the oxen."

Nearly halfway out of the cloth flap with his legs hanging over the side of the wooden structure, Erron sighed and narrowed his eyes in the man's direction, frustration leaking into his tone as he replied sharply, "Do you not trust me? We've been on the road for almost a year and yet you still won't let me take care of yer damn animals even when yer plumb tuckered out." Erron huffed and jumped down from the wagon, looking at the scowling man before raising a hand to stop him from speaking and saying, "You rest, you hear? I'm doin' the animals."

Muttering something about working too hard under his breath, Erron quickly walked around to the front of the wagon and, finding that the oxen were sound asleep, tried to wake them by shaking their shoulders gently. He didn't take kindly to getting kicked in the face, so he tried to keep some distance between himself and the beasts. He heard ruffling behind him and turned to see the man's frowning face peeking out from behind the cloth flap. "What gives me the belief that I can trust you, hm?" the man asked, climbing through the flap to rest on his seat with his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, "Like you said, we've only been travelin' for a year. That's hardly enough time to know anybody. I don't even know yer name, fer Christ's sake!"

The man spat out that last phrase, glaring at Erron as the blond stopped what he was doing and mirrored the man by crossing his own arms and glaring back. "For yer information," he started, trying to cool the anger rising in chest, "I have told you my name. Twice, if I recall correctly." Images of his dream kept drifting across his train of thought, momentarily distracting him long enough that he was staring a bit too long at the man for it to be comfortable.

The man shifted on his seat and grumbled, "Well I don't recall you ever tellin'."

"You were about to fall once and then you almost got hit in the head by a mason jar the second time."

The man made a face, jumping down from his seat and standing next to Erron with hands now tucked firmly into his pockets. He was a few inches taller than the blond and he noted that with growing unease as the man said firmly, "You sound like you just made those up."

Rolling his eyes and just wanting to be done with the conversation, Erron uncrossed his arms and held one out in a gesture that implied shaking hands. The man looked confused for a moment before taking the hand, the blond shaking his hand tightly and stating carefully, "Name's Erron Black. Third and last time I'm gonna say it."

He stepped away from the man and continued to try to wake up the oxen, one of which was already starting to shift to it's feet as fireflies flew close and almost made it sneeze. He whispered things to oxen as he slowly woke them, rubbing their backs and brushing them gently before moving on to the next one. The man eventually did leave Erron to go back into the wagon, saying something about getting breakfast prepared, and the blond suddenly felt the weight of being watched lifted off his shoulders. That was good, at least. But no longer feeling warm under the man's gaze as a small wind gust blew through was not as great a feeling.

The sky was a petrid color when the small town of Kansas City rolled into view over the horizon, the tiny buildings and muddied pathways hardly comparable to the large cities to the East such as Boston or Philadelphia. Erron was sitting on the seat up front, the man carefully cleaning his revolver beside him with a look of determination on his face, and holding onto the reins as the town inched closer and closer to them. The wind rustled across the plains, shaking the cloth canvas that held the wagon together, and created goosebumps on the blond's arms and legs. Using one hand to rub his cold arm, Erron muttered under his breath, "Looks like a storm comin' from up North."

He nodded in the direction that the dark clouds were forming, swirling and twisting around each other as occtional flicks of lighting shot down to Earth just to be followed by a rumble of thunder. It's not like the man and Erron hadn't had to deal with storms over the course of their journey Northwards, but this one seemed different somehow. It seemed bigger or more powerful, with the clouds twirling together rapidly as if someone were controlling it.

Erron eyed the storm a bit longer before turning his head back towards the road and to the town ahead, shaking his head and trying to will the oxen to go faster. Pushing them wasn't good; They'd learned that the hard way when one of the oxen had died on the trip and they had to go out of their way to buy a new one. But the blond reckoned it was better to find shelter in the town and potentially hurt the oxen than to get struck by lightning out in the middle of open prairie Kansas.

"Mhmm," the man agreed as he carefully wiped the handle of the gun with an oiled rag with multiple ash stains on it, careful to keep the barrel away from his face and pointed towards the ground on the outside of the wagon, "Lucky that we made it all the way here without getting caught in the middle of it." Erron hummed in agreement and the two fell into a companionable silence, the man eventually slipping the rag inside his pocket and placing the gun on his lap as the town grew closer.

Seeing the shining revolver out of the corner of his eye, Erron jabbed his head and asked with a crinkled brow, "Keepin' that out ain't the best way to make a first impression." He saw the man give him an exasperated look as he lifted the gun and twisted it in his fingers, the blond flinching each time the barrel spun and pointed at him.

Eventually the man let the gun land carefully on his lap, placing one hand on it protectively as he let a self-depricating laugh out of his throat and gave Erron an are-you-stupid? look. "Just 'cause Kansas is technically free territory don't make it a safe haven," he relied bitterly, scooching away from the edge of the wagon as a mud puddle splashed up and soaked his right side. Erron tried to focus on the road with his side pressed against the man's, his jaw clenching in frustration, as the man continued with a sigh, "Though I suppose it should be better up here. Positive thinkin' and all that. But, anyway, it's always good to be careful just in case. You never know what kind of rednecks are prowlin' around."

Erron simply nodded, the road finally starting to even out as they approached the town entrance. Several people on horseback galloped by the old wagon, kicking dirt into the oxen's faces and almost causing one of them to balk and stop walking altogether. The blond cursed and replied with annoyance, "Rednecks is right. Never seen somebody be so damn rude before-"

"Can you shoot?" The blond paused his train of thought, giving the man a look as he clutched the reins harder and tried to ground himself. Of course he did. Not well, since it had been nearly a year since he had last held a weapon when he…

Shoving his guilt and sadness deep inside of him once again, Erron sharply replied as he looked back to the road, "Yeah. What of it?"

The man, seemingly noticing his change in mood, waited a couple of seconds before saying mildly, "I didn't know that…" He paused, seemingly thinking about what to say next before asking lightly, "What kind?"

Erron did not like the way this conversation was going, stiffening beside the man before replying tightly, "Rifle. Don't know what kind. It wasn't mine."

That, right there, was what Erron wanted to be the end of the conversation. Sadly the man obviously didn't understand that was what the blond wanted as he whistled and said sternly, "Well that's not helpful in the slightest. Yer gonna have to learn how to use one of these." He held up his revolver, Erron's eyes drifting to it once before he snorted and shook his head.

"Yeah right. When pigs fly, maybe I'll consider it." Erron smirked, masking his discomfort, and looked over his left shoulder to see if there was anyone stuck behind their wagon.

The man tucked his gun back into his holster and wiping his hands onto his jeans, the man looking at Erron and deadpanning, "All you need to do to make a pig fly is to throw it, you know that right?"

The blond laughed and gave the man a sideways look, warmth bubbling in his chest that he couldn't recognize. It didn't really matter anyway. They had finally reached Kansas, afterall.

**Warnings: Mentions of Slavery**

"This building here. This is where we should stop." Erron sharply tugged at the reins for the oxen to slow to a stop outside of a tall building with the sign that proudly announced that it was a tavern. The name was barely legible, even in the middle of the day, with the paint used to write the bright lettering already washed away because of the light sprinkles of rain they had over the course of the day. The man fixed his straw hat tighter over his head, shielding his eyes from the mistings of rain that were blowing into both of the man's faces, as he jumped down from his seat and hurried around to the back of the wagon.

The blond, his hair beginning to stick unattractively to his forehead, jumped down as well and got closer to the sign, trying to read what the Hell it said. He placed both hands on his hips as he cocked his head, his brain finally figuring out that the sign said **Opal White Tavern** before reminding him he should probably help the man get the jars out of the wagon. Meandering his way over to the man, he reached into the wagon and asked while pulling out two very large jars, "Why this place? You know the owners or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'," the man replied as he quickly put two more jars in Erron's arms and grabbed two for himself. Noticing that the blond was still staring at him with confusion in his eyes, the man sighed and, looking over his shoulder, whispered, "They helped me buy my way out of Texas. Apparently they went down there and saw my ass out in the field, toilin' away under the sun. They talked to the Master and that very day, I was released." Erron nodded along to the man's story, his arms beginning to burn from holding the jars for so long as the man finished quickly, "They told me they were movin' up to Kansas 'cause the land was cheaper and that I should come visit someday. Turns out that day just happens to be today."

"What mighty fine folks," Erron commented quietly as he watched the man take another jar and give the blond a curious glance with a slight smile. He stepped around the blond, who had realized, yet again, that he may have been holding eye contact just a bit too long, and started towards the building, almost knocking over the sign as he walked by. He disappeared inside the swinging doors of the tavern as Erron quickly placed one of the jars onto the ground and tied the back of the wagon's cloth flap into a strong knot, unease spreading in his chest as he reached down to pick up the jar of buffalo meat again.

Almost dropping all of the jars before cursing and managing to right them between his chest and arms, Erron walked quickly over to the safety of the little overhang that kept the rain and wind off of the porch that led into the tavern. He could feel the water soaking into his clothes and he growled in annoyance as he pushed the swinging door open with his hip, trying to not drop any of the jars onto the wooden paneling as he did.

The room as crowded, but not overly so. It was just crowded enough so that Erron had lost complete track of the man, the din of the tavern growing louder the further into the room he walked. The blond glanced behind him and thought he saw the man slouching against a far wall, but he was mistaken and quickly moved on. Finally, Erron letting out a sigh of relief, he spotted the man sitting happily on one of the stools surrounding the bar, his forearms resting on the table and ankles hooked together under the stool as he talked adamantly to a woman that stood on the other side of the bar with her arms full of the jars that he had brought in. The blond sidestepped a man heading for the exit and quickly found his way to the man's side, the woman immediately stopping her conversation to look at the jars in Erron's hands with excitement.

"I'm assumin' these are fer you, ma'am," Erron said as he placed the jars onto the counter, sliding onto a stool to the left of the man as the woman positively squealed and shot him a toothy grin which the blond quickly returned.

The man chuckled beside Erron as the woman took each of the jars and placed them quickly behind her on a shelf with multiple types of drinks sitting there as well before saying excitedly, "These are just wonderful! We was runnin' out of just about everythin' you could think off right as y'all was showin' up! Thank you very kindly!" Placing the final jar on the shelf, the woman turned around and asked with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips, "Now, I do say I recognize yer face," she pointed at the man as he took a small sip from the drink in front of him, "But… I don't think I've ever met you before, son." Her attention was on Erron now, her gaze kindly and motherly as he crossed his arms and grinned back at her.

He leaned back in his chair as she placed her elbows on the surface of the counter and asked with a smile, "Tell me. How long have you and Miss. Deborah been acquainted?"

**1857**

It really was too hot to be doing anything except for sitting and drinking inside the peaceful confines of the tavern, but, of course, the day where the sun seemed to be scorching the Earth was the day the man - _Deborah_ \- had decided to give Erron proper shooting lessons with her revolvers. Standing behind the tavern with folded arms and sweat trickling down his neck and forehead, the blond tried to cool down by rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his forearm. Though it helped, it only did so much to elevate the heat that sat like a wet blanket over Kansas City, the humidity from a recent storm making Erron even more irritable than he already was.

The doors to the tavern slammed open and there stood the woman herself, her blue skirt grazing carefully along the ground as she marched over, with two hostlers and two revolvers in her hands, to where the blond stood, who unfolded his arms and gave the woman an annoyed look as she approached. "Could've told me to wait for you inside of the tavern instead of havin' me wait all the way out here by my lonesome," he muttered as Deborah dropped one of the hostlers at his feet, not making a move to pick it up until the woman kicked it towards his feet with a frown.

Erron glared at her in response, but slowly bent down to pick up the weapon, a surge of emotion traveling through him once his hands grazed the leather binding the revolver within itself. Deborah sighed and said brashly, "I didn't tell you nothin' of the sort, Black." She quickly opened her own hostler and plucked out the revolver, running her tanned hand over the barrel before grousing with a sharpness in her tone, "You don't want my help, go on back inside. I ain't wastin' my time teachin' someone who don't wanna learn."

Turning the hostler over and over again in his hands, his thumbs rubbing over the smooth leather in a rhythmic pattern, Erron grunted in acknowledgement to Deborah's statement, not wanting to actually turn and look at the woman as he thought over what she said carefully. Did he really want to learn how to shoot again? After what happened the last time he had held a gun?

Deborah let out a laugh and the blond looked up from the holster to see her shaking her head at the ground with both hands on her waist. "I see how it is," she started once her laughs had subsided, "You'd take plenty of lessons from a man, but none from a woman. How perfectly sensible of you, friend." His - _her_ \- face was a mask of disgust and disbelief as she reached forward and tried to take the gun from the blond's hands, the latter taking a step back so that she was out of his reach and almost tripping over a rock as he did.

"That ain't true," Erron started, his hands clenching around the weapon as his mind raced in a million directions at once, "I was taught to shoot a damn rifle by a woman, for Christ's sake." Lifting one of his hands to wipe some of sweat dripping off his face, the blond took the revolver out of it's hostler, the metal cold against his slick palm, and pointed it towards the tavern, imaging the Outpost in his mind's eye as he tightened his grip and prepared to squeeze the trigger.

Moving from Erron's side, Deborah quickly stepped in front of him and placed her hand over the head of the revolver, her eyes narrowing as she snapped, "Are ya crazy? We ain't shootin' the tavern! Would get kicked out faster than I could say Flap-Jacks. Besides, yer stance is all wrong." She gripped the barrel tightly and whipped it out of Erron's hands, her hair flying behind her as she spun on her heel and, widening and bending her legs so she was balanced, quickly pointed the gun back at the blond, her eyes shining with triumph.

It was an odd feeling, having Deborah hold the gun close enough to the blond that he could practically feel the metal on his clammy skin. It was not something he was afraid of, he was just intrigued by the fact that this woman, who had tricked him for a year and three months by pretending to be a man, had not once, but twice held a gun to his face with the intent of causing him harm… Or to at least to scare him. It was almost thrilling, to be quite honest. She was strong and Erron liked that more than he cared to admit.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Erron cleared his throat and asked languidly, "Are you gonna actually show me anythin' or are you just gonna show off fer the rest of the day?" He watched as Deborah raised a brow and flipped the gun around in her hand, pressing the handle into the blond's outstretched palm before taking her own gun into her hand. The blond tried to copy the woman's stance, widening his legs and bending them slightly, as she watched approvingly, switching the gun to his right hand so it was more comfortable to hold onto.

Deborah stood straight, motioning with her hand for Erron to stay still as she walked in front of him and looked at his stance, the blond feeling her gaze travel up and down his body as a warm feeling slowly covered his chest. "That's a fine stance," Deborah eventually said, shifting her eyes away as she twirled her own revolver in between her fingers. Erron let out an internal sigh, his eyes tracking her movements as she continued, "Now it's time to actually get to shootin' somethin'." She smiled thinly as she turned around and, looking at the ground, began walking forward before calling, "Toads are as good as anythin' to start with! Trick is finding them is all!" She looked once over her shoulder and, seeing that Erron still hadn't moved from his position snapped, "I ain't doin' all the work for ya. Help me look!"

The air was thick and heavy, a common occurrence when the tavern was completely full to compastity. Priscilla was working quickly behind the bar, taking orders and making them as quickly as she possibly could, and the entertainment for the night, a traveling troop of banjo players from Missouri, were lively and full of jokes and exciting music. Even Dovie, the nickname Erron had graciously offered Deborah after she shot down three birds in a row on one of the many days they had practiced with the revolvers, was laughing and drinking her share of mead and wine, clapping the blond on the shoulder whenever the banjo players said something funny that left the room in an uproar of mirth.

As for the blond, he was sitting quietly by the bar on one of the many stools that lined the wooden surface, one hand wrapped around a bottle of wine and the other wrapped loosely around Dovie's shoulders. Her curly hair bounced every time she laughed boisterously, the noise melodic and rich in Erron's ears. He took a sip from his wine bottle and was nearly pulled over as Dovie jumped to her feet from her own stool and raised a glass to a kissing man and woman in the middle of the room, shouting along with everyone else her congratulations to the betrothed.

Erron snorted and placed his drink back onto the counter behind him with a clunk, catching Priscilla's eye as she hurried by with more drinks for patrons on the other side of the bar. When she returned, she smiled wide at the blond and winked slyly, her eyes flickering between him and Dovie suggestively. The blond tried to contain his giggles by covering his mouth with the croke of his elbow at his friend's lack of tact, but it was proved in vain as he burst into laughter after Priscilla started wiggling her eyebrows too. He took another sip of his drink to calm himself, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Yes, he was decidedly drunk. He had to be; The normal thoughts of guilt and disgust with himself were but a faint buzzing at the back of his mind, insignificant now that the liquor was flowing through his veins. He glanced at Dovie, his heart swelling to see her so happy when most of the time she was the opposite. Looking away and dropping the wine glass back onto the table, Erron felt a twang in his heart, something that had only happened once two years ago. No common sense was going to try to suppress what he was feeling now, what he had been feeling for almost half a year (and, if he was completely honest though he would NEVER admit it, maybe even before then). Nothing was, if the blond could help it.

Resting his drink back onto the bar counter, he swiftly got up from his seat and walked in front of Dovie, who was watching the banjo players start another lively dance behind glazed eyes. She acknowledged him briefly before swatting at his arm and saying with a laugh, "Black, get outta the way! I'mma tryin' to watch the men play their songs!"

She clapped her hands to the beat with a smile until Erron grabbed her hands with his own and asked lightly, "Wanna go dance, sugar?" Dovie tightened their hands as she whooped and shot up from her seat, pulling Erron through throngs of people until they were right in front of the players. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch feather soft, and laughed when Erron placed a hand on the small of her back, her eyes shining as he began to lead them in a dance that was a mix between hopping and swinging each other around the floor.

Erron let out a chuckle which turned into a full belly laugh each time they swung around the room, his grip tightening on her back so that if she slipped on the floor she wouldn't fall. Eventually, it turned from the blond leading to the blond following, Dovie's erratic footsteps taking over as she began to spin and jump so quickly that Erron had no choice but to follow. It was fun, to say the least.

The song came to an abrupt end as Dovie swung them around one more time, her foot tripping over her mahogany dress as she tried to stop her motions. She tilted to the side, her arms flaying as she attempted to balance herself. Grabbing onto her wrist just as she was about to fall, Erron quickly yanked her backwards and into his arms, draping both of his hands over her back once he stopped stumbling from the force of her impacting with him. She looked mildly confused for a few moments, as cheers and claps echoed about the tavern, before plastering a smile on her face and shouting in delight with a raised fist.

The blond smiled again, looking into Dovie's flushed face as his own grew hot with anticipation. If he was going to do it, this was his chance. As Dovie turned back to give what the blond assumed to be a hug, he surged forward and pressed his lips to her, opening his mouth invitingly while closing his eyes as the woman in his arms stopped moving entirely. People laughed and cheered at Erron's menstrations, his arms squeezing lightly as he pulled her closer to his chest and bit her bottom lip teasingly, praying that she'd kiss him back.

All that he was met with was a sharp smack to the face, the blond quickly opening his eyes as he was shoved away and back into the crowd of people surrounding them. His face was a mask of confusion as Dovie, her face a mixture of rage and fear, quickly turned on her heel and rushed out of the tavern door, knocking quite a few people out of her way in her haste to leave. There was no cheering once the doors slammed closed.

The night air chilled Erron as he shuffled down the street, the stars shining coldly from high above as feelings of stupidity flooded his head and made him feel small. He brazenly kicked at a stone that sat lonely in the middle of the road, sending it shooting into the wooden paneling of a house nearby, but the blond could care less at the moment. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he continued down the road quickly, his eyes roaming across the houses and shops that littered the town as he sighed in discontempt.

Dovie couldn't have gotten far, even though she was in a hurry to leave. He'd only seen her that angry a few other times, once when a man had said something unsavory to her and another when a woman called her a n*gg*r directly to her face. That bitch had a bullet in her food, courtesy of the blond, before she could even mumble an apology. Served her damn right.

Erron felt so goddamn stupid, mentally cursing the drinks he had downed only three hours before that had almost evaporated off of him once Dovie's hand connected with his face. It still stung, the skin raised and probably red. The blond rubbed a hand to his face absentmindedly as he looked at a woman walking down the street towards him, squinting to see if she was the lost Deborah before, recognizing it wasn't her, bowing his head, with his hand on the brim of his hat, and saying quietly, "Pardon me, ma'am."

She gave him a queer look as he continued on down the road, the sharp wind that whistled between the buildings leaving him shivering and pulling his hands from his pockets to rub his arms. It was getting cold, alright. The blond would have given anything to undo what he assumed was a terrible cross of boundaries back at the tavern, his skin crawling as he thought about what he did with more clarity in the sobering wind.

Finally, _finally_, Erron spotted someone sitting alone on a rundown wagon near the gunsmith's shop, her form hunched and curled in on herself as she gazed at nothing. The blond inhaled sharply and slowed his walk, trying his best not the spook Dovie as he took off his hat and waited for her to notice him. Minutes passed and still she didn't look his way, Erron starting to grow impatient as he clutched his hat closer to his chest and coughed lightly in an attempt to gain her attention.

"Go. Away."

"But I just got here, De-"

"I said GO AWAY."

She still hadn't looked at him. Erron sighed and, looking down at his boots, mummered as he tapped his foot restlessly, "I truly am sorry. Really. The behavior I showed at the tavern was unacceptable."

"Yeah it was." Now she was looking at him and Erron kinda wished she wasn't. Her face, as a whole, was unreadable, but her eyes shined with betrayal and a pain that the blond hadn't even realised was there. Her body was slightly trembling as she spoke evenly to Erron's face, "I don't have anythin' to say to you right now. Leave me be."

Erron felt rigid with shock, his hands kneading the hat he held until he shakingly asked, "Is- there anyway I can do to fix this, Dovie?"

"You can fix it by leavin' me alone." She turned away from the blond as her mouth pressed into a thin line and snarked, "I ain't speakin' no more. Not tonight." The maybe-not-ever rang loud in clear in Erron's mind. Standing for a few moments like a fool, Erron quickly brought his hat back to his head and turned on his heel, leaving Deborah alone and trying to forget what had happened.

BAM! Blood splattered across the sand as Erron shot directly through another toad, the sun hot on his exposed neck and arms as he reloaded his gun slowly and aimed at the toad that was sitting directly across from it's demolished friend. BAM! His aim was getting better, that was for sure. Talk in town about folks coming from Missouri and taking people in the middle of the night, especially those of a darker complexion, into deep slave territory had all of Kansas City in an uproar. Many patrons at the **Opal White Tavern **talked about it whenever they got a drink, Erron being able to listen closely whenever he was helping Priscilla do something or another behind the counter.

The number of taken people had finally rose to a number which was alarming, close to fifteen or sixteen men, women, and children. The gunsmith, a man by the name of Johathan Parker, had sold out in less than a month after the first firefights had broken out near the entrance to Kansas City, when a young couple were jumped by ten or twenty men who accused them of going against the morals of the South. It had resulted in only eight deaths, but almost thirty people were wounded in the scuffle, resulting in quite a few doctor visits and more than enough amputations of major limbs. But hey, that's why they called it Bleeding Kansas down in D.C. People die and then the survivors learn to shoot quicker and with more accuracy.

Which was exactly way Erron spent most of his free time practicing with the revolvers, starting to feel more comfortable with the small weapon in his hand as well as safer. Replaying Dovie's instructions on how to handle the weapon solemnly in his head, he crouched down and aimed for a third toad that sat calmly behind the others, blissfully unaware about the fate it was about to endure. He calmly clicked the gun into place and held it in front of him with one knee steadying him on the ground, trying to keep his arm relaxed and his breathing steady. He was going to have to work on loading quicker. Those precious seconds couldn't be wasted.

BAM!

Only it wasn't his gun going off that made the noise. It was the back door from the tavern swinging noisily into the wooden boards that made up the back of the building, the one and only Deborah slowly walking out of the house with a revolver in her hand and a hard expression on her face. Her black dress swung lazily as she - for lack of a better word - stalked over to Erron, who had risen from his spot on the ground and had the revolver dangling from his fingers. He raised a brow as Dovie finally reached him, biting the inside of his cheek in agitation as a surge of heat drifted from the cavity of his chest to the rest of his body. The blond felt disgusted with himself; Her rejection of him had obviously not been introduced to his brain yet.

She glared at Erron for a few moments, his eyes traveling over the expanse of her face before she snapped with a shove to his shoulder, "Yer aim is good, but yer reflexes… are terrible." So it was like that, huh? Straight to business. Not dealing with… what happened… two nights ago. That was more than okay with Erron, though the nagging feeling that he should ask her about it kept tugging at the back of his mind.

Erron nodded and muttered, "Was tryin' to work on my aim now." He attempted humor next, trying to bring out Dovie's playful side that rarely ever showed, "I know you like to be the one to shoot them dead first. Me? I'm just here to double check the bodies."

Deborah hmphed at that, using a ribbon to tie her loose curls into a bun at the back of her head, as she snapped, "All the same, a slow gunman is a dead gunman." With those words, she turned her back and took several wide steps towards the tavern, Erron's confusion growing until the reason for her wide stride hit him like a train. Dueling. She wanted them to duel. And oh Jesus, did his mouth feel dry from the fear and excited anticipation thrumming through his veins.

His thought process was proven correct when Dovie turned suddenly, keeping her legs spread as she twirled the revolver in her hand teasingly. The blond copied her stance, flexing his pointer finger over the trigger, as he swallowed thickly and tried to breath like she had taught him to. Breathing was always the hardest part for him, his energy making him want to hold his breath until the excitement was over. He couldn't do that and aim straight however, so Erron settled for biting the inside of his cheek instead.

A few anxious moments passed, both people shaking with energy as they stared each other down, the sun above blazing hot as they assessed the weaknesses of their opponent. Erron had just enough time to realize that maybe this duel was Deborah's way to get back at him for the kiss before the woman in question shouted, "DRAW!" and BAM! Erron felt the sharp sting of metal enter his shoulder, right under his shoulder blade, as he flew backwards. He landed hard, sharp and hot pain running up and down his arm in waves as he hissed and raised his hand to graze at the wounded skin, his fingers coming away bloody.

It was painful, but, in the end, the blond knew it could have been worse and that he did indeed deserve it. He would take hundreds of bullets all at once just to be back into Deborah's good graces. Besides, he kinda liked the sharp reminder that he was alive and living a life that could take anyone by surprise and leave them hurting or dying on the ground. Pain helped the ground him, so, naturally, he had grown to love it.

**1858**

It was bound to happen eventually. Erron was just surprised it took so long. Walking down the street with Dovie by his side, a strong, independent, freed woman, already drew curious glances from folks that were okay with Deborah's presence in the town. When the folks from Arkansas and Missouri had started coming into the free state of Kansas and then into Kansas City, most locals just assumed that they'd come to move there permanently, trying to make their way in a big country that was always expanding. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Worse still, most bared firearms whenever they walked the streets, scaring people who got too close or had the wrong look to them.

One such man had approached Dovie while she and Erron were busy talking to Mister Parker, Deborah fishing around in her satchel to take out some silver dollars to pay the man for the bullets he had given them two weeks ago. Erron was busy playing with one of bullets lining the shelves, flicking the shell across his fingers as the man entered the store, the blond's eyes immediately drifting to the rifle strapped across his back with mild disinterest. It wasn't until the man's eyes darkened as his gaze fell on Deborah did Erron grow concerned.

But he didn't actually move to defend her until the man quickly stepped forward and grabbed her outstretched arm as she was handing money to Mister Parker, Erron immediately stepping forward when the glint of a knife caught his eye. He slammed into the man hard, forcing him to drop the knife as Dovie growled in fury and tried to elbow the man in the face. The man seemed to anticipate this though and quickly deflected the blow with a swipe of his hand, swing his right fist at Erron's head as the blond went in for a punch himself. It connected and Erron went down, hitting the floor hard as he felt blood trickle down his nose and drip steadily onto the floor.

Much of the fight was a blur after that, Erron trying to stand as he saw the man grab the knife off of the floor and swipe it through Dovie's arm, a shriek that was very uncharacteristic of her leaving her lips as blood soaked into her white glove and down her dress. Mister Parker watched carefully, his expression just a bit too placid for Erron's liking. When the man grabbed Deborah by the waist and raised the knife as if to stab it directly into her stomach, the blond threw himself forward, knocking the man at the knees and causing him to release his grip on Dovie.

Freed, she flung upon the wooden door and ran out of the shop, her dress flying behind her and flapping in the wind, as she quickly bolted towards the **Opal White Tavern**. The man pursued, kicking Erron once in the chest, which caused a groan of pain, before he kicked open the door and marched outside, screaming obscenities as he started to chase. Powering through the pain that emerged in his stomach, the blond jumped to his feet and, grabbing one of the rifles off of the racks lining the walls of the gunsmith's workshop, loaded the gun as he shouldered the door open.

He raised it to his shoulder and, pointing it somewhat vaguely in the man's direction, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The kickback hurt like an old friend, the sound causing people surrounding the shops to scurry back inside with a few screams echoing around them. Lowering the weapon from his shoulder, Erron saw a giant horse carrying many different types of supplies unceremoniously tip over, blood oozing out of it's side, and crush the rider that was sitting on top with a scream of anguish.

Erron cursed, flinging the rifle onto the ground as he tried to search the mass of people for the face of the man that had attacked Deborah. But he was gone. Erron kicked the rifle away with the toe of his boot, his face hot from embarrassment and rage. Not only had lost the man, he had missed his shot. He had MISSED and probably KILLED someone innocent in the process. The blond cursed colorfully and started to jog forward, praying to whoever would listen that the person beneath the horse wasn't dead.

The horse had been killed, bleeding out soon after it's stomach had been shot through by Erron's bullet. The man beneath the heavy horse was alive, but just barely. His breaths were shallow and drawn out, as if breathing was a strain on the man's body. He was unconscious, with one hand wrapped solidly around his chest as if that would somehow stop the heavy load of his horse from cracking his ribs in half, and Erron, his concern growing the closer he got to the man, contemplated what to do next. He obviously couldn't just leave the man in the middle of the road under his horse and supplies; He would block traffic and would probably die within minutes if left alone.

The blond stopped in front of the scene in front of him, one hand on his waist and one hand to his forehead to absentmindedly wipe the sweat away, as he whistled lowly and tried to slow his heart rate by breathing deeply. Up close, the damage looked even worse, with many of the supplies on the back of the horse crushed and shattered at his feet. Erron could feel the stares of the rest of the townsfolk as he circled the man slowly, trying to figure out the best way to pull him out from under the fallen beast. After all, he had done this. It was only right that he helped this man in any way he could. He wasn't gonna just leave an innocent man die because he didn't have half a mind to aim correctly. His Ma had taught him better than that.

Crotching down by the man's peaceful, yet pale face, Erron reached over his head and grabbed the hand surrounding the man's chest, standing up right and yanking backwards once he got a good grip on the appendage. He grunted when the man didn't move, the weight of the horse keeping him trapped solidly to the ground. Sighing in frustration, the blond pulled harder, trying not to cringe when the wrist he was holding popped out of it's socket with a sickening crunching noise. Planting his feet and gritting his teeth, Erron almost stumbled forward, dropping the man's arm, when he felt the man give a little under the horse's corpse.

Reaching down and grabbing the arm again, the blond pulled as hard as he could and soon the man was free, sliding across the road while dirt and soil became trapped in the man's brunet hair and plain stopped yanking and dropped the arm, bending over as he tried to regulate his breathing from the overexertion of his muscles. There. The man was free. The blond could now just leave him and walk away, hopefully never having to deal with the man he almost shot ever again. All he had to do was catch his breath and stand up. That's all.

Nodding slightly as he turned the words of his plan over in his mind, Erron slowly stood straight, trying to ignore the dull headache that was beginning to form at the front of his brain, and went to turn away, catching a few onlookers whispering and muttering things to their partners and friends out of the corner of his eye. Including Deborah's. Except she wasn't talking; She was just looking at the scene with mild confusion on her face before wiping the expression away and marching forwards, Erron pausing as the excitable female approached him and trying not to flinch when he saw that her arm was still bleeding.

Both of their shadows fell across the man's unconscious body as Dovie gave Erron a look and asked with a hands on her hips and exasperation in her voice, "Well? Yer gonna help him, right?"

"Wasn't plannin' to," Erron admitted slowly, switching his gaze between the man and Deborah while hoping that the onlookers surrounding the scene would eventually walk away. Their constant presence was starting to make the blond uncomfortable. "We could just leave him here and let the sheriff deal with him…"

Deborah made an indignant noise and snapped, "That ain't happenin'. Everyone saw you and probably suspects the worse, considerin' what's been goin' on around here nowadays." The blood pooling up at the bass of her wrist dripped steadily onto the ground, the blond watching each bead fall almost as if in a trance. The sheer amount that was welling up and falling couldn't be healthy. She was going to have to go get that checked at the Doctor's, maybe even have to get stitches. Guilt welled up in the blond's chest once more. Dovie had almost been _murdered_ and he had almost let it happen. Once again, Erron Black hadn't been fast enough and, this time, he had paid the consequences for it.

A hard swat from Dovie's hand to his sore shoulder brought him back to Kansas City and out of his mind, the blond hissing and placing a hand to his shoulder as Dovie said with a hard expression, "Listen here!" She moved to stick him in the shoulder with her finger again, but Erron stepped back quickly with a frown before she could. "I'm gonna go to the Doctor's and get some supplies for him." She jabbed her chin in the unconscious man's direction before continuing authoritatively, "Get him to the tavern while I'm gone. He's gonna be tired as all Hell, so bring him upstairs to yer room and be sure to tell Priscilla what yer up to while yer at it. Don't want to scare her or nothin'. I'll try to be as quick as possible."

And with that, off Deborah went, weaving and sometimes elbowing her way through the straggling numbers of people still waiting to see a conclusion to all the action that had just transpired. Erron knew she had left quickly so that he couldn't object to her plan because oh boy howdy did he want to object real bad. Looking at the man on the ground and instantly feeling a pain in his shoulder at the thought of lugging him all the way to the tavern by his lonesome, Erron sighed irritably, rolled his eyes, and grumbled under his breath about how Dovie could've at least helped him carry the brunet _halfway_ to the **Opal White Tavern** as he picked up the man's arm and started pulling once more.

The first thing that Erron noticed about the brunet that laid before him in one of the three rooms Priscilla and her family lived in above the tavern was that his eyes were green. Not a muddy green that Erron was used to seeing in the random passersby that visited the tavern below. No. The blond reckoned the eyes were the same color as the tiny emerald beads he used to look at in Mister Stewart's shop in Nacogdoches. Deep, rich, swirling with a color that was so uncommon that the only place people could even come close to finding the color was out West in California or in dreams about fantastical places and people that weren't actually real.

The brunet's eyes looked like they were pulsating with magic, something that had been forbidden to speak about all throughout Erron's childhood because magic was associated with beings that his Ma had even refused to say the names of out loud. But that's the closest thing Erron could compare those shining eyes to, the orbs seemingly mystical and ancient along with just a hint of dangerous. Honest to God, the blond would have been lying if he hadn't said that looking into those eyes and then just looking away had felt like the hardest thing he had done in a long, long time.

The second thing that Erron noticed about the brunet was his voice, how it matched the power of his eyes tenfold and sent unrecognized shivers up and down the blond's back. The man looked like he was trying to say something, his adam's apple bobbing as he tried to spit the words out. Erron, who was sitting beside the bed in an uncomfortable wooden chair as he leaned forward with clasped hands and forearms on his thighs, waited as the man finally spoke again and asked horsley, "Am- am I dead?"

Shaking his head, Erron reached beside him, glancing at the door to his right to see if Deborah had returned yet, and grabbed a glass of water on the table and handed it shakely to the man, who took the drink eagerly and downed it in one mouthful. "No, you ain't dead," Erron replied with a sigh, his mouth forming a grim line as he took the cup back from the brunet's hands and placed it onto the table. He was never so unhappy to almost shoot someone in his whole life.

The man chuckled weakly, his breathing still shallow and irregular, before saying quietly, "That's funny. Coulda sworn I went to Heaven and met an angel." He was looking at Erron as he said this, the blond feeling his ears warm uncomfortably as he started bouncing his knee on the floor, before his perfect, entrancing eyes rolled into the back of his head and fell back into a deep slumber. And right then and there, Erron knew he was in a Hell of a lot of trouble.


End file.
